


Say Something

by knw



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Addict Behaviours, Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety Attacks, Ballroom Dancing, Blow Jobs, Comforting Derek, Dance Competition AU, Dead Allison Argent, Drama & Romance, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Stiles, Latin dancing, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Phone Sex, Protective Derek, Romantic Comedy, Slow Build, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knw/pseuds/knw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is a recovering addict seeking to rehabilitate his public image through a dance reality show. Derek Hale is the professional dancer tasked with getting him through the competition.</p><p>Unfortunately it's harder than Stiles expects: not only is he managing his own illness and press scrutiny, but he needs to act professional around Derek when all he really wants is to climb him like a tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sterek Haven Big Bang challenge - unfortunately not quite finished in time for posting, but posted with their approval as I hit the word limit and it'll be updated regularly until it is complete.
> 
> Massive thank you to Scribbles for the beta reading.
> 
> Rosie also produced a GIF set (link in end notes) and this poster, so massive thank you to her.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

When the sleek mayoral limousine pulls up outside the production studio, Stiles can't bring himself to open the door right away. It doesn't matter that the sidewalk is blissfully paparazzi free for the first time in months. It's what the walk represents that leaves his chest feeling tight. And he feels horribly uncomfortable in the close fitting monkey suit Lydia purchased for this occasion. He hates being uncertain, so he hates everything about today.

"You don't have to do this," says his dad, like this doesn't have the potential to make or break his re-election campaign. He's seated beside Stiles; hell, he's been beside Stiles every step of the way from that rock bottom moment almost a year ago. He's been in every hospital, every clinic, waiting outside every therapy session.

So Stiles swallows roughly, glancing back at him. "I really do, but thanks."

His dad studies him, reaching to clasp his shoulder. "I'm proud of you, kid, of everything you've done this last year, whatever happens."

Stiles summons his best grin, covering his father's hand with his own. "Thanks. Me, too."

"Go get him then."

Stiles snorts, glancing back at the studio entrance.

It's a brilliantly sunny day outside, ringing with optimism that seems misplaced to Stiles. He's terrified: he has an interview because his would-be partner - this Derek Hale - refused to agree to take him on without it. Stiles is ninety percent sure this whole meet is just for the guy to reject him in person, no matter what Lydia says.

"Stiles?"

"I'll try," Stiles tells his dad, because it's the best he can do. He steels himself and grabs the door handle at last.

His dad wishes him luck or something. Stiles isn't sure; his head's full of white noise as he leaves the vehicle to go inside.

This is such a bad plan. It's Scott's idea, so it must be a bad plan. There's a reason that Stiles is supposed to make the plans. Except, well, his life this past year might be a mark against him. If a mark involved setting his entire book on fire and tossing the cinders in a dumpster.

Stiles draws a deep breath as he passes through the double doors. There are big adverts for all the shows the studios produce on the walls, including the very reason he's here: _Let's Dance._ Just the sight of it makes him double-back, but the car peels away from the curb as he turns. He's too late. "Balls."

"Stiles! You made it!"

Double balls, Stiles thinks as he looks back to see his best friend smiling hugely at him. Of course Scott would be here; he's one of the main dancers on the show. Now Stiles definitely can't duck meeting Derek Hale. "Scotty, hey. Didn't know you'd be waiting."

"'Course I'm here for you, man. You okay?" Scott asks, concern genuine as he pulls Stiles into a hug, slapping his shoulder. "I know it's gotta be tough, but Derek's a great guy, promise. You know I wouldn't set you up with anything less, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Stiles replies, patting Scott in return and glancing around self-consciously. He can read the judgement of the press in the receptionist's hostile gaze: _Stiles Goes Out in Style: Mayor Stilinski's Car Crash Son Wrecks Again_.

"You'll be fine," Scott insists, squeezing Stiles' arm. "C'mon, I can show you Derek's rehearsal studio."

"Yeah, thanks. He's been on the series for a while, right?" Stiles asks.

Stiles knows exactly who Derek is really. He did his background research as soon as Lydia confirmed the studio were on board. But Stiles is well aware that he should know Derek better than just from research. Derek's close to Scott, has been since Scott started the show last year, so Stiles should know him well in his capacity of best friend. Except he doesn't, because Stiles has spent most of that last year in various forms of rehab and he's horribly out of the loop with his best friend's life. Fuck, after Allison, he's not sure he deserves a place in Scott's world at all.

"He's a regular, yeah," Scott agrees, swiping a card to pass through the doors beyond reception without sparing the judging-lady a glance. "Talia Hale's son, so you have famous parents in common."

Stiles forces a smile, nodding vaguely. He really doubts he's going to have much in common with a professional dancer. No successful athlete would share Stiles' resume and Derek doesn't seem to have one blot to his name in the press.

"You're really nervous, huh?" Scott's not judging; if anything, he's sympathetic.

"Got a lot riding on this," Stiles replies honestly. "He's-he's not the type to be doing this for kicks, right?"

"What?" Scott seems genuinely shocked. "Dude, there's no way Derek would do that, I swear. I'd never have suggested this except he's a great guy and looking for a new challenge so I figured he'd be up for it if the station was."

"Thanks," Stiles huffs, more amused than insulted really.

"I meant the whole dancing with a male partner challenge, not the dancing with you!" Scott looks so appalled with himself that Stiles has to laugh.

"Dude, it's cool. We both know calling me a challenge is one of the nicer descriptions you could've used." Stiles bumps his shoulder against Scott's. "Thanks for this, seriously."

"Least I could do after you've been trying so hard," Scott assures him, smiling. Stiles has no idea how Scott can still be so warm, but he is. "Anyway, here you are: this is the studio assigned to you and Derek. I'll go see if I can round him up for you."

"Thanks, man," Stiles replies, sharing a quick hug again before they part.

And so Stiles is back to alone and shaky nervous, crossing to a pair of chairs in one corner and sitting gingerly. He flexes his fingers, wishing he had a drink in his hand, then curls them into fists. He doesn't need that. All he needs is to sit and wait, and hope that Derek Hale finds whatever he's looking for in Stiles when the time comes. That's not too much to ask, is it?

* * *

It's only ten minutes before Stiles hears footsteps, but he's working his way toward a panic attack. He's out of his seat and pacing the room, his fingers curled to white knuckled fists. He doesn't turn when he hears the footsteps stop in the doorway behind him, but he does freeze.

"Has anyone actually asked how you're feeling today?"

The voice has this calm, assured quality that appeals to Stiles and his current state of agitation right off the bat. He can't really put his finger on why he feels that way, but a little of the tension bleeds from him as he replies, "And actually waited for an answer?"

"I'm waiting," says Derek. "How do you feel?"

Stiles looks down at his hands. "Like I need a drink, or a smoke. Like I need more than that."

"You don't need it," Derek tells him.

"No," Stiles agrees. "But I want it."

Derek's just in front of the closed studio doors, every bit as handsome as the photos of him online had been. The scruffy beard is ridiculously sexy and, with his arms folded across his chest, the way Derek's biceps bulge beneath the plain white tee Does Things to Stiles.

"Hi," Stiles says, dumbly.

"Hi," Derek replies, and his smile is a little breathtaking. If 'a little' were redefined to cover complete asphyxiation.

"Why the hell would you agree to this?" Stiles blurts out, the words tumbling forth without reference to his brain. Because his brain had been wondering as much ever since Scott approached him with the idea, but Stiles had been feeling pretty resolute about not informing Derek how insane he was.

"I haven't yet," says Derek, though he's gentle about it. "But Scott made a good case for it. He knew I wanted to push myself, and volunteering for the first openly gay male couple on the show seemed a good challenge. I'll have to choreograph the hell out of you if we want to stand any chance of winning."

"I'm actually bisexual," Stiles feels obliged to point out.

Derek shrugs. "So am I, but no one's going to care."

"Right, yeah," Stiles looks at the floor again. Maybe having his sexuality scrutinised will take the pressure off his history. Maybe he'll be hated for it by every gay out there as they get tarnished with his brush. Hell, maybe he should stop worrying about what other people think and how to keep other people happy. Well, except Derek since Derek's going to make or break this. "What did you want to know?"

"If you've really thought this through," Derek replies. "You said yourself you already want to take something and we haven't even started yet."

Stiles huffs out a bitter laugh. "I'm an addict. I always want to take something. I always will. The point is that I don't. I haven't in a year, since the accident. I won't pretend that was all on me though; Dad made sure I didn't get near anything whilst I was developing my own control."

Derek nods, expression serious but not pitying. He looks understanding. "Have you considered the impact of the stress from this?"

"You mean the media?" Stiles asks, because he's thought of nothing else, really.

"No, the rehearsals," Derek clarifies. "The training every day, repeating moves until you can't move anymore. The performing live. The getting publicly criticised."

In some ways, every word feels like a blow. Stiles digs his fingers into his palms to ground himself. He already knows this, knows the strain he'll be under. He's talked to his dad about it, talked to his therapist about it. It'll push him, he knows that, but... he needs this. He meets Derek's eyes and nods. "I've considered it."

"That'd be more reassuring if you looked less like you were about to vomit."

Stiles scoffs, shrugging as his stomach swirls unsteadily. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise you wanted me to BS my way through this whole interview just to make you feel better," he bitches, flowing into motion as he paces the room.

Derek doesn't dignify that with a reply.

It's exactly the right response. Stiles needs someone to rail against and when Derek doesn't give him that, he rapidly runs out of steam.

"I can't promise anything," Stiles tells him, setting bravado to one side. Derek's made the effort to be here, so he deserves a proper answer as Stiles keeps walking, wringing his hands. "I get panic attacks and I have ADHD, never mind the rest. But I'm going to try; I'll give it everything I can. I need to do this for my dad. For Allison."

Derek's silent for a long moment, then he says softly but clearly, "That's not good enough."

And Stiles feels crushed by it, before anger suddenly floods through him. He's opening his mouth to shout when Derek cuts him off.

"You need to do it for yourself."

Stiles stops short, a bit drained from the sudden and pointless emotional roller-coaster. "You need to work on your communication skills. You sounded like you were sacking me off already."

It's only when he sees Derek's raised brows that Stiles realises he probably shouldn't criticise the guy he's trying to win over. "Err--"

"I'd like to see more of that," Derek tells him, that gorgeous smile fleeting across his mouth. "This isn't about me doing you a favour. We'll be a team - a partnership."

Stiles swallows, transfixed by the small, hopeful smile that comes with Derek's near-miraculous offer. The man has to be insane, to be willing anyway after all Stiles has said. Stiles hasn't seen anyone but his closest family and friends show this sort of belief, and Derek has no good reason for it. It adds a new danger that Stiles hadn't foreseen: what hope will he possibly have of keeping this professional on his side? How can he resist when he's faced with supportive and accepting in such a stunning package? "Why are you even doing this?"

It's an echo of earlier, but Derek doesn't repeat himself. Maybe that means Stiles has done something to earn the answer he gets: "For myself, because I adore dancing but I hate how unrepentantly straight it has to be. And for my sister."

"For your sister?" Stiles echoes, curious.

Derek just nods, expression softened somehow.

Stiles looks around awkwardly. "So do I pass?"

Derek raises those impressive brows. "Do I?"

Stiles blinks at him. "I meant, are you willing to partner me?"

"So did I," says Derek. He holds out a hand to Stiles. "Partnership, remember? You stay clean, I'll stand by you."

Stiles stares at Derek's hand for a few long moments. He's going to be in so much trouble from this, but his hand finds its way into Derek's whilst his brain is still stuttering. He swallows, taking in how firm Derek's handshake is, imagining how he'll be feeling those hands on him and shaking his head to dispel the train of thought. "Wow, yeah, thanks, dude. I'm totally in, too."

"Derek," says Derek firmly. "Not dude."

Stiles shakes his head again slowly, his grin helpless. "Whatever you say."

And no matter the danger, Stiles can't bring himself to be nervous any more. God help him, he feels giddy.

* * *

Stiles is grinning into a tub of Ben and Jerry's Peanut Buttercup ice-cream when his dad walks in that afternoon. The rest of his morning had flowed into easier chatter with Derek and he'd begun to feel more like his old self, like - as he'd term it - the old Stiles, before everything went wrong. Derek has a dry sense of humour that Stiles loves, and the endless patience and supportive approach that he needs. Stiles can dare to dream that it will all go well if he can keep himself professional. And since Derek doesn't seem interested in that way, Stiles figures he's safe.

Stiles still counts it as a large victory in his maturity that he's not yet Googled Derek's relationship status. He refuses to attribute the achievement to the absence of any time to do so. (He'd had lunch with Scott directly after his session with Derek. It had been a horrifyingly healthy lunch, which has led him to the ice-cream.)

Now Stiles sits licking his lips and trying not to grin moronically as the Mayor circles the kitchen island at which Stiles is sat and assesses him critically.

Stiles smiles around his spoon, spinning through any feasible ways he could get out of a blatant admission to lusting after his dance partner before they even start. His dad might be Mayor now, but he'd been Sheriff in his past life and he hadn't lost the knack.

"Where's mine?" asks his dad, propping his hip against the counter. Side-attack it would be apparently.

"At the store," Stiles tells him smartly. "You won't be spending a minimum of the next three weeks training to dance live on national TV. You don't need the fat content."

"Meeting this Derek Hale went well then, did it?"

Stiles spoons an extra big scoop of ice-cream into his mouth, nodding. And then winces as the brain freeze sets in; in retrospect, it probably wasn't the wisest way to avoid smiling like a goon. It's downright painful.

"And so you'll be going ahead with it all?"

Stiles nods again, swallowing the treat down and warding off his anxiety as he forges on with forced cheer. "Yep. The official on-camera introductions are next Monday, so he must have been pretty sure already. Or maybe they had someone else in reserve."

"They might," his dad agrees, folding his arms across his chest. "It is going to be a lot of stress, even if you and he both want to do it."

Stiles rolls his eyes, not because he doesn't appreciate the seriousness but because he's heard it from his dad half a dozen times and again today from Derek. Just thinking on it too long makes his stomach turn. "Yeah, I know."

His dad sighs and there's a moment of silence before Stiles can almost hear him let it go and switch topic: "Good looking chap that Derek Hale."

Stiles' smile returns immediately, too wide and goofy to hide behind the ice-cream even as he attempts to fix his gaze to the table top and school his expression. "He's okay."

"I see," says his dad in that knowing-dad way.

Stiles glances up at him, taking in the amused expression on his dad's face. "What?"

"This isn't going to be like when you first met Lydia, is it?"

Stiles flushes immediately, tempted to throw his spoon. "Oh my god, no. I'm an adult. And I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," agrees his dad.

Stiles huffs, but he remembers Derek's genuine smile at the idea of them working together and it's hard to be annoyed. Even if his dad's being obnoxious. "How come you're back so early anyway?"

"I can't just want to check in on my favourite son?"

"I'm your only son," Stiles points out, digging his spoon back into the tub. "And I have a mobile which, you're so fond of reminding me, can be used to communicate about things and plans without need for proximity."

The Mayor doesn't speak, and he's just staring at Stiles when he glances up.

"What?" Stiles asks, suspicious.

"I think I forgot how strong you could be this past year," his dad admits.

It takes Stiles by surprise. "Yeah? You mean you did come to check up on me?"

His dad shrugs one shoulder. "I was worried for you. In case."

Stiles swallows, feeling the weight of how frequently he'd disappointed his father in the past. "I'm sorry."

"Oh gods, no, kiddo." His dad cuts through the air with one hand. "I'm your dad. I'd be worried even without everything."

Stiles feels his chest ease a bit. "So you do think I can do it?"

"I know you can, son," says his dad, smiling. "And I'll be behind you every step of the way."

"Thanks." It makes it easier to believe when he hears his dad say it.

He's going to learn to dance. And he's going to do it with Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, please [click here](http://erciareyes.tumblr.com/post/123913674856/say-something-by-knw-sterek-big-bang-2015) to see the gif set Rosie did for chapter 1!


	2. Chapter 2

It is a fact universally acknowledged that a Stiles Stilinski prior to coffee and ten am (or even eleven most days) must be in want of a bed. It is for this reason that Stiles takes so long to give his phone due regard when it keeps bleeping the next morning; two earlies in one week would be too much. It is also for this reason that it takes Stiles so long to comprehend the texts he's seeing when he does finally look at his phone.

The first is from an unknown number: _Remember we're a team. Call me if you need anything. DH._

Stiles is too sleep befuddled to do more than smile moronically at the phone for several moments. Derek has texted him. Because DH can only be Derek Hale. Derek has somehow acquired his number and text him, and called them a team, and said Stiles could call anytime. Stiles is not ashamed to admit to a moment of screaming into his pillow in glee like a thirteen year old girl.

Man, he's in over his head.

After that, Stiles eventually works his way to the next text which is from Scott. It almost starts him off again: _Dude, hope you don't mind me giving Derek your number. Text and let me know you're okay?_

Whilst Stiles had put Derek's choice of words down to an iteration on yesterday's conversation, Stiles can't do the same with Scott's. Scott only saw him yesterday so there's no reason for him to need Stiles to message and say he's okay after a single night's sleep.

Stiles is just cottoning on to the other messages and missed calls when his phone starts ringing in his hand and Lydia's beautiful visage fills his screen. He scrambles to sit upright, staring at the phone as if it might bite before forcing himself to press accept and raise it to his ear.

His heart's pounding, his chest tight. It'll be his dad. Something awful happened to his dad and it must be all over the news. It's all Stiles' fault, too, you can bet. This is a punishment-- God, he can't breathe and he's making these rough, wheezing noises when he tries to talk.

"Stiles? Stiles, are you there? Is this a panic attack? Stiles! Breathe, come on, stay with me, calm down. Do I need to come round?" Lydia's words are rapid fire in his ear.

Stiles' hand is shaking as he tries to force the words out, "D-Dad? Wh-what?"

"It's Lydia, Stiles," she says, worried. "You need to calm down - I'm coming over, okay? Your Dad's in a meeting but he'll come as soon as it's done, too. We were expecting this, remember? It's just the media."

Stiles blinks rapidly, struggling to take in what she's saying. He locks onto the most important thing. "Dad's okay?"

"What?" Lydia sounds confused. "Of course your dad's okay. We were worried about you."

The tightness in his chest eases and Stiles sucks in deep greedy gulps of air as Lydia's voice in his ear fades to a background buzz. His dad's okay. Whatever's going on, it's not his dad or Lydia. And it isn't Scott, because Scott text him. And it isn't Derek, either, for the same reason.

Stiles inhales slowly, swallowing, and interrupts wherever Lydia has gotten to, "What-what is it?"

Lydia draws an audible breath and Stiles can picture her counting to ten. "Are you okay now?"

"I think so," Stiles replies, and he's finding his feet and moving for his desk and laptop. "Tell me what's going on, Lydia, because this really isn't helping."

"The news about the show broke," Lydia says.

Stiles almost feels like laughing. "Really? After I went and met Derek Hale at the studio where the show is filmed, it broke on the news today?"

"Good to see you're feeling better," Lydia replies. "Have you actually looked at the coverage?"

"Loading up my laptop now," Stiles replies, so much calmer now but still nervous. "I assume it's pretty bad?"

"They got a comment," Lydia tells him gently.

Stiles' knee jitters as he logs on, navigating to his browser and cursing how slowly everything loads. "From who?"

"Kate." Lydia pauses, because she knows Stiles will need a moment to gather himself after the rush of nausea hits him. "Are you looking it up?"

"Yeah. Look, I'm going to hang up. I'm fine, okay? We knew it would happen." Stiles isn't sure he believes what he's saying, but he's been over this with his father so many times that it comes out as if by rote.

"Okay," Lydia agrees. "Call if that changes, okay?"

"Sure thing," Stiles agrees, navigating to the first news network he can think of. He has that sense of removal as he hangs up. It feels like he's somehow apart from the reality of his body putting the phone down as he scrolls down the screen. 

There's a photo on the front page of Kate caught at an angle looking sad and angry with a bold quote: "It's like he's dancing on her grave."

Stiles jerks his hand to his mouth, nausea surging through him. It's not like that. It's not. Allison would know that. She'd want him to do this. But the words make his eyes sting anyway. Allison would've loved the show; she adored dancing with Scott. She'd been so goddamn full of life.

He bites his lip hard, scrolling further through the text. He's been raked over the coals again, his every mistake splattered across the page. He jerks away from the screen almost violently when a picture of the mangled car comes into view, snapping the laptop lid closed and breathing deep.

He doesn't need anything. He doesn't need a cigarette. He doesn't need a drink. He doesn't need a hit. He's fine and he expected this.

"I'm fine," he tells the empty room, his voice breaking. Except now Allison's back in his head with her beautiful smile and all the wild times they'd had. If Scott is as good as his brother, Allison was like a sister. His gaze catches on a photo of the three of them on his wall, Allison between he and Scott and their grins massive. They'd been headed for a charity dinner. "God, I miss you."

Stiles swipes his arm across his eyes and realises exactly what he's going to do. He turns and heads for his closet: it's time to get up and get dressed. He needs to go out.

* * *

"...it seems like everyone has something to say about it, and not all of it is bad. Actress and singer Kira Yukimura is one of the other contestants on the show and has tweeted her support saying 'I think people need to stop judging without the facts. It sounds like a brave and inspiring thing to do for equal rights.'"

Stiles parks and glances at the radio, a brief smile touching his lips. He cuts the engine and the radio before they say anything to ruin it, because it's one of the most positive things he's heard since he got in the car. Derek will definitely like it, which is enough to make him pause and type out a text before he leaves the Jeep: _Doing okay. You should check out Kira Yukimura's twitter. SS._

That done, he grabs the flowers he picked up from a local gas station, sliding the phone into his pocket and reaching for the door handle. He hesitates then, just for a moment, scanning the other cars parked nearby. None of them look like paparazzi who are lurking in wait, but after Kate's little performance on TV, Stiles wouldn't be surprised. He pushes that thought back and opens the door. He needs to do this. 

The graveyard seems to be quiet. No funerals ongoing anyway, and no mourners that Stiles can see. He likes the privacy that seems to afford him, wending his way down a familiar path between rows of graves and small sections of foliage with an occasional tree.

Allison's grave is in the perfect spot, to Stiles' mind. She's placed on the crest of a hill, the largest tree in the grounds arching overhead to offer shelter or shade, and a beautiful view beyond. The stone still looks new, a clean, pale grey with her name, her life, engraved in gold.

"Hey," Stiles greets her softly, ducking forward to start arranging his flowers in the vase. "Guess it's been a while since I came out here. I'm sorry I only ever seem to come when shitty things are happening."

There's no answer, of course, just the tweet of birds in the trees, but it's peaceful and Stiles feels closer to her, like he's really talking to her.

"Your aunt called me out today," Stiles admits, dropping to sit beside the grave. "She still hates me, holds me responsible. I kind of do, too, except I know you'd get mad at me and tell me you made your own decisions." His voice cracks a bit. "I think you'd tell me what happened wasn't my fault, and you'd be proud of what I'm doing now."

Stiles swallows and blinks a bit, eyes burning. "God I wish you were with me, Alli. It's been awful without you. I'm clean though, haven't taken anything since-" It's hard to even say it. "Since the crash."

Since the crash where Stiles had been driving, and where Allison had been his passenger. Since the crash when they'd both been high, but only on a bit of weed and a couple of drinks before heading out. They'd taken so much worse before, were planning to take more later, but that had been all it took right then. They'd been giggling like school girls as Allison insisted Stiles was obviously going to try and pull someone and Stiles denied it. She'd gone after his wallet to prove he was carrying a condom as he tried to fend her off. It had been so normal and light and joyous. And Stiles hadn't been paying attention to the road.

The truck struck them at full speed from the right, rolling the vehicle like it was nothing. Stiles' had been sure they were going to die, terrified and completely out of control. Allison took the brunt of the impact; she'd never had a chance. Stiles had been recovering for months, lucky to be alive.

It had been their right of way, but Allison's grandfather and aunt had vocally held Stiles responsible all the same. They had no case. Stiles was prosecuted for driving under the influence, resulting in a fine, community service and court ordered rehabilitation, but it was a first offence despite his reputation. Hell, it had been a reputation his party girl shared. He thought they probably hated him more for that, for tainting her.

"Finally came out, Alli," Stiles tells her, letting up on arranging the flowers. "I'm on _Let's Dance_ with a male partner - he's hot like burning. Scott's on the show, too, as a professional like you guys dreamed. Boy done good. I'll try take better care of him now I sorted myself out more."

His phone pings softly and he digs it out. It's Derek: _Like her already; will arrange lunch date Monday if you're up for it?_

Stiles grins. "I got the best partner, Alli. He's hot, like I said, but, like, really nice. He doesn't care about what happened except that I'm okay to handle the stress of the job. And don't think I don't know that you're cackling at the idea of me doing ballroom dance, but I'm gonna manage it, just to show you."

He thumbs a quick message back to Derek: _Sounds cool; invite her partner, too._

"He's just said he'll arrange lunch with one of the other contestants who's been supportive of us," Stiles adds. "And he's doing it with me because he volunteered. Scott suggested it all. You'd get such a thrill out of it, I swear, and then your aunt says like it's disrespectful. That's not true, right? I mean, I want to do this for you. I'm not kidding myself that you'd be proud, am I?"

"You're not."

Stiles damn near jumps out of his skin at the reply, twisting sharply to see the tired face of Allison's father surveying him from the foot of the grave. It's the last thing that Stiles expects to see, which is probably a little illogical since this is Allison's grave, but he wants the ground to swallow him up. He hasn't spoken to Commander Argent, not at all. Stiles had been too wrecked, too ill and too chicken to speak to him at the funeral, and it had been easy to avoid him since.

"Commander," Stiles says, struggling to speak even now.

"I wasn't sure if it was just Scott," says the Commander, moving around the grave to crouch beside Stiles and nodding to the flowers. "But I thought you probably visited, too."

He looks so tired, so sad as he touches one of the flowers. Allison had been his everything after his wife died in action two years ago. It makes Stiles' heart hurt.

"I'm sorry," Stiles blurts out, aware of how hopelessly inadequate it is.

The Commander looks at him with those piercing blue eyes then shakes his head. "It wasn't your fault, Stiles."

Stiles has no idea what to do with that but he feels his eyes burn and he chokes a bit, jamming his knuckles into his mouth.

Commander Argent lays a hand on Stiles' shoulder, squeezing gently.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispers, his voice thin and wheezy as he tries to manage his emotions. It doesn't work and the tears eek out. "I miss her so much."

Stiles isn't expecting the Commander to draw him into a hug, but he goes into it willingly. "I know. Me, too. But you're right that she'd be proud."

And that only makes Stiles cry harder.

* * *

Stiles is still red eyed and a little snotty an hour later as he sits across from Commander - 'Call me Chris' - Argent in the booth of a fairly quiet burger joint. It's still early before the lunch rush, despite Stiles feeling he's endured an entire day. They've placed orders for burgers and fries. Chris ordered a coffee and Stiles got a milkshake.

They haven't spoken much and now Stiles is worrying at his napkin, not sure what to say never mind how to start saying it. He'd tried sorry and Chris had batted it back at him.

The coffee and milkshake arrive without them speaking. Stiles toys with his straw as Chris draws the mug close. He takes his coffee black, apparently, with no sweetener.

"I saw what Kate said," Chris says at last.

Stiles freezes. Chris let Stiles cry on his shoulder, which seemed affable, but Kate's comments were not. At all. "Yeah?"

"Yes," says Chris. "And I understand why she said it, where the hurt comes from. It's hard to see you sitting there okay and know she's gone--"

"I'm sor--"

"Let me finish, Stiles," Chris cuts him off. "It's hard but that's on us and I'm sure you're piling enough guilt on yourself."

Stiles ducks his head, saying nothing.

"What Kate said was wrong," Chris says bluntly. "Allison would never have felt that way."

Stiles swallows again. "Thank you."

Chris nods to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't come and see you," Stiles says after a few moments of silence.

"I think you had enough on," Chris replies, a faint, wry smile curling his lips. "And if I'm honest, I probably wouldn't have wanted to see you."

Stiles blinks, then chuckles faintly. "Okay, fair."

"It's good, what you're doing," Chris tells him. "The show. It'll show other addicts what they could achieve."

"Hope so," Stiles says. He takes a pull of his milkshake and it's good, so good.

"Derek Hale's your partner, right?" Chris asks. "He'll be good for you."

Stiles blinks, startled. "You know Derek?"

The waitress chooses that moment to bring over their meals, a friendly smile on her lips as she settles the food before them. "Sauces, guys?"

"Oh, red please?" Stiles asks.

Chris just reaches for the salt and pepper as she bustles away. She's back in a moment to deposit the bottle. "Enjoy your meals."

"Thanks," says Stiles, reaching to uncap the bottle as his attention returns to Chris. "You know Derek Hale?"

"Knew," Chris amends. "And it was a long time ago. I think he'll be good for you, though."

"How'd you know him?" Stiles asks, squirting a healthy dollop of ketchup on his food.

"He was an aide in Alison's dance class for a couple of months," Chris replies.

Stiles blinks, recapping the bottle. "You remember all the aides?"

Chris shrugs one shoulder, nodding to Stiles' as yet untouched burger. "Something wrong with it?"

"You distracted me," Stiles accuses, diverted because he is hungry. He's also still suspicious, but he can try and find out from Derek maybe. "How come you were there today? At the grave?"

Chris frowns, focusing on the burger.

"You don't have to--" Stiles begins to venture.

"No, I don't," Chris agrees. "But I will. I had a question and I thought it would be easier to answer it there."

"And then I got in the way," Stiles observes, apology on the tip of his tongue again. He doesn't think there's enough sentiment in the world, because he can only imagine that losing a child is like losing a parent too soon. Hell, it's probably worse because at least you expect to lose your parents at some point before you die.

"No," Chris says firmly. "You were an answer."

Stiles pauses with his fork in mid-air, then raises it to point at Chris. "You should know that I also accept straightforward answers."

Chris laughs and takes a big bite of his burger.

Stiles rolls his eyes and takes a bite from his, surrendering to the fact he's likely to get nowhere fast pursuing this route. And that's okay because they eat in companionable silence for a time.

"Hey, aren't you that druggie kid on the news?"

It's a pretty rude interruption. Stiles is totally taken by surprise, eyes widening as he looks up at the advancing man.

"You get that poor kid killed and now you--"

Chris moves out of his seat with a swift, fluid sort of grace that Stiles can only dream of. It's a grace Allison had inherited and what made her such a superior dancer compared to Stiles' fumbled attempts. She would've been amazing on the show, gods.

The man is clearly surprised by Chris, taking a step back. He's not really what Stiles would have expected: smart shirt and slacks, clean shaven. Judging.

"And who are you?" Smart Shirt asks Chris, rallying himself admirably considering Chris has the 'I-could-kill-you-with-my-bare-hands' look.

"I'd be the 'poor kid's' father," Chris replies bluntly. "You?"

Stiles isn't sure whether to get up or what, very aware they're attracting attention and he never wanted to drag Chris into this media circus.

"You--You're-Why're you having lunch with him?" asks Smart Shirt. "I saw her aunt on TV this morning. She said-"

"I know what my sister said," Chris replies evenly. "And I'll tell you and anyone who asks: my daughter was glad to know Stiles Stilinksi and she'd be proud of him now. So thank you for your concern on her behalf, but you've been misled."

Smart Shirt blinks, probably about as surprised as Stiles at the sudden non-violent diversion in the conversation. "...right, um, okay?"

Chris nods to him and watches him go before returning to sit opposite Stiles.

"You didn't need to do that," Stiles says, expression concerned. "It's going to end up in the news--"

"Stiles," Chris cuts him off, gaze on him steady. It only takes Stiles a beat to realise Chris knows exactly what he's done, that he intended it to play that way. Chris flashes a sharp little smile in response to whatever he's seeing on Stiles' face: "Just say thank you."

Stiles laughs, a short bark of laughter. "Sure, okay, thank you. But I'm buying lunch."

"I can live with that," Chris agrees.

Stiles grins, sitting a little higher in his seat. Hell yes he can do this; he has more allies than he ever imagined.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles spends the week that follows laying low, exchanging a few texts with Derek, a lot of texts with Scott, and frequent paranoid phone calls with his father (boy was he in trouble for leaving his mobile on silent when he was with Chris).

As Stiles had forecast, Chris's words soon found their way into numerous news articles, only fuelled by Chris reaffirming what he said when he's asked about it directly the next day. Kate stays out of the news after that, the remaining Argent family unavailable for comment.

That isn't the end of it, of course. There's far too much story for the media to play with and they go for the jugular on Thursday: _'Mayor Stilinski, how long have you known your son was gay?'_

It had been a press conference about shootings in one of the rough neighbourhoods. People were baying for blood because it was felt the police hadn't been prioritising them enough, and there was Stiles' alleged sexuality trotting through it all. And damn-it but he was bi. Bisexual was a real thing.

His dad had been amazing, of course, (he'd even pointed out Stiles was bi!) but Stiles had still felt like a terrible son for it all. He was supposed to be helping his dad's re-election campaign, not prompting questions like 'do you think these recent issues could be attributed to your attention being focused elsewhere?' For crying out loud, he was the Mayor now, not the Sheriff, and the police had been doing as much as could be expected.

Stiles felt so bad he cooked his dad a steak that evening.

And so the days merge together until Monday rolls around again. Stiles resigns himself to the fact he probably can't just stay in bed all day and gets up and near a coffee pot.

_Ready for today? :D_ Scott has text him.

Stiles rolls his eyes, scratching sleep from the corners. _Sure, can't wait to wade through paparazzi._

_I'll meet you out front_ Scott replies promptly, because Scott is just that kind of good people. Stiles feels his early morning grouch ebb in the face of it, a smile sketching on his mouth. He can manage a few cameras - he used to love them.

From there it's only an hour before Stiles is inside the studio and Scott's shoving the door closed in the face of one overzealous journalist.

"You okay?" Scott asks him.

Stiles nods, catching his breath. "They'll get bored eventually, right?"

"Depends how boring you are," Scott replies, squeezing his shoulder. "Come on, bro. We both need to go and get ready."

"We do?" Stiles echoes. He's pretty sure he's ready. He picked out clothes that won't blur weirdly in front of a camera and everything.

"Make up," Scott replies, leading the way past reception like the first time Stiles had come. "You don't want shiny forehead, do you?"

"Oh, no. Shiny forehead, that would be the worst," Stiles agrees.

Scott elbows him for his cheek. "Dude, be nice. Derek's been really stoked about this."

"Yeah?" Stiles aims for nonchalant and probably falls way short. He has so many questions about Derek, especially after meeting Chris. "He said that?"

"Not as such," Scott replies. "But he's been really psyched about this season. You've really lucked out."

"He's not so bad," Stiles tries to play it cool, hoping his face isn't flushed red the way it feels. "Who'd you get, anyway?"

Scott gives him a knowing look, slowing his pace, "Can't say. Here you are, anyway."

Stiles blinks and then catches the 'Celebrity Dressing Room' sign. "Oh."

"See you later, man," Scott says. "You'll be great."

"Yeah," Stiles grumbles to himself. "My coordination on TV. It'll be amazing."

Scott is gone though, so all that's left for Stiles to do is go inside. He's at a loss on whether he's supposed to knock or not - it's his dressing room, right? - so he knocks and then pushes the door open. "Hello?"

"Hi!" That the man has a very white smile is the first thing Stiles notices, but he seems genuinely pleased to see Stiles as he meets his eyes in the mirror. The door where Stiles stands is opposite the row of seats, though only one is occupied - a young Asian lady being attended by the speaker. "Stiles, right? I'm Danny. Let me finish up with Kira and I'll be right with you."

"Oh!" Stiles wants to slap himself for not recognising Kira straight off. "Hi! You mind if I stay and wait or--"

"Come sit," Kira says brightly, waving at the chair beside her.

"She's been looking forward to meeting you," Danny advises, resuming his work powdering Kira's face - Stiles isn't sure if it's foundation or concealer or some fancy name for anti-shine that he's never heard of before. He doesn't speak make-up-ese, and yes, based on conversations Lydia's had in the past, he's sure that is a language in its own right.

"I really am so glad to meet you," Kira agrees, smile wide. "We're going to lunch today, right? Has Derek told you who I'm partnered with? You're so lucky you know already."

Stiles grins; Danny and Kira have some sort of infectious happy vibe going on that he can't resist. "Sorry, no idea. Derek and I haven't really talked that much yet."

"I'm so excited," Kira admits. "Danny keeps telling me off for moving."

"You aren't making the job easier," Danny agrees mildly, but his eyes are twinkling. "Lucky you don't need too much."

"Aww, you're so sweet," Kira blushes prettily. "I don't suppose you know who I've got?"

"Couldn't tell you if I did," Danny tells her.

"Is there someone you want?" Stiles asks. He feels a bit wrong footed and it takes a few moments to realise it's because neither Kira nor Danny have made any allusion to him being different or his addiction. People just don't do that normally.

"Well, I've tended to be an Ethan fan," Kira's cheeks are still splotched a bit pink. "But the new guy seems kind of cute?"

"New guy?" Stiles echoes, zeroing in on that and wondering if she could mean--

"Scott McCall?" Danny asks, grinning. "He is pretty fine in those dress pants, but I think Stilinski here got the show's prize bull. And lucky for you, Derek's not a big believer in wearing shirts."

Stiles is so busy making a face at the idea of anyone admiring Scott in dress pants - his bro, dude, just no - that he takes a second to process Danny's words. "Dude-it's not-"

"You don't think he's hot?" Danny is giving him a disbelieving look.

Stiles snorts. "Dude is hot like burning, 'course I think he's hot. But I feel like I should try and be a bit more professional than drowning him in drool."

Danny makes a face whilst Kira leans over to poke Stiles' arm. "Maybe he thinks the same about you."

Stiles remembers Derek's smile and considerate texts and really hopes so, cheeks warming. "We barely met last week, hold your horses, yeah?"

"He's definitely been in a great mood this week," Danny says, ignoring Stiles. "Except the couple of times he got really pissed about someone on the news talking shit about you."

Stiles chuckles. "That's kinda standard territory with me."

He's trying not to smile like a moron, but when Kira grins at him, Stiles just ends up grinning like a loon in return. He gets the impression that even if Derek doesn't dig him, the man's pretty keen on rocking the protective older brother gig. Stiles definitely won't turn his nose up if that's the best he can get.

"You know, romance really sells on this show," Danny tells them. "The viewers love it and you get more votes."

"You aren't suggesting lying to the public?" Kira looks genuinely dismayed.

"No," Danny shakes his head, moving to stand behind Stiles. "You don't want to get caught doing that, it's not worth it. I just mean that if anything happens, don't feel you have to hide it from the cameras."

Stiles makes a face, then catches Kira's expression in the mirror - she's doing the same - and they both laugh.

"We'll keep it in mind," Kira tells Danny, turning in her seat to face Stiles. "So, there's something serious I need to ask, okay?"

Stiles can't really move anymore as Danny grips his chin and starts doing something powder related. It makes it difficult to know whether to be nervous of Kira's question. "Yeah?"

"Is it true you have a massive comic collection?" Kira's expression is excited and earnest.

"Oh my god," says Stiles, tearing free of Danny's hold. "Will you marry me? No, wait, first - Marvel or DC?"

"Nerds," Danny huffs with exasperated fondness, but Stiles doesn't care: Kira is amazing.

A-maz-ing.

* * *

Next up is filming their opening segment and almost everything is good. Stiles has been feeling pretty calm, because this sort of camera - where 'cut' is an option - is better for him. There is also the great news he's with Kira since the show tend to introduce groups of two or three contestants in a batch.

There's only one small problem.

Stiles had anticipated not liking Peter Hale from the handful of clips of him he'd seen, but he'd hoped to find him tolerable in reality given how lovely Derek is. Now that he and Kira are in front of the cameras with Peter, waiting to meet their dance partners, he's forced to face the fact he really, really doesn't like Peter. The man is slimy.

The only upside is that Stiles is so busy actively disliking creepy Pete-y that any nerves that might have bubbled up latently have been soundly squished.

"So Kira, is there anyone you're hoping for?" Peter asks, which is an innocent enough question, except he's waggling his eyebrows lewdly. He also has no concept of personal space, which Stiles hates. Because, apparently, talking to Kira entails Peter winding his slimy arm around her waist. It's all Stiles can do not to show his distaste on camera.

"Ah, well." Kira is all shy smiles and blushes. Most impressively, she's not craning away from Peter the way Stiles would be. "I've always been quite an Ethan fan - he's so sweet - but this morning I've been hearing a bit about Scott McCall from Stiles, here."

"Ah, the new kid," Peter nods, grinning wolfishly. "He's got talent but he's pretty green. You'd be in more experienced hands with Ethan."

Stiles tries not to bristle on Scott's behalf, but Kira seems prepared. "I'm looking forward to seeing the new approaches Scott brings to the show."

"Oh, yes, quite," Peter agrees, tone overly placating. He steps back from Kira, holding up the golden envelope with Kira's name on it. "Okay, Kira, cross your fingers and let's see if you get your wish."

Kira holds up her crossed fingers to the camera, because she's adorable like that.

"And your partner for _Let's Dance 2015_ is..." Peter waits long seconds, opening up the envelope and sliding the card out where only he can see it.

Kira fairly vibrates in place, biting her lower lip.

Stiles doesn't quite know what to do with himself whilst it's not his turn. He opts for reaching to take one of Kira's hands, grinning at her as she smiles back gratefully. He really hopes she does get Scott; he's sure they'll hit it off.

"It's your lucky day, Kira! Scott McCall!" Peter announces, turning toward the stage entrance.

Scott comes running out, dropping to his knees and letting his momentum carry him in a long slide toward her.

Kira lets go of Stiles' hand to clap hers together, actually bouncing with joy.

Stiles shakes his head at his best friend's antics, relieved for Kira. He claps as Scott finds his feet and picks Kira up by her waist, spinning her around and making her squeal.

"Picked up already - I think she's happy, folks," says Peter. "Are you pleased with your partner, Kira?"

"Very pleased," Kira says, beaming up at Scott as he sets her back on her feet.

And Scott, well Stiles knows that look: Scott's definitely pleased with Kira.

"And you, Scott?" Peter asks, then again, "Scott?"

Scott looks back at the second prompt, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. "Sorry. Yeah, I'm very pleased, too. I have so many ideas - I'm really excited to work with Kira."

Kira's smile is huge; she's hanging on Scott's every word, and so much more relaxed as she leans into Scott's hand on her back compared to how she was with Peter.

Stiles has a sneaking suspicion that his introduction isn't going to go quite like that...

"And now you, Stiles," says Peter, advancing on him. "You're going for a pretty big first this season, aren't you?"

Stiles takes a step back before he can think better, but thankfully Peter stops short of putting his arm around him. Stiles doesn't miss the dangerous glint in Peter's eye though, swallowing. "Yeah, could say that. My partner's going to be another man."

Instead of the hug, Peter lays a hand on Stiles' arm, fingers digging in like a warning. "That is rather unorthodox. I hear you've met your partner already?"

"I have," Stiles agrees, trying not to wince at the grip. "But I think you know him better than me, Peter."

"That I do," Peter nods. "Folks, time to welcome Stiles' partner, it's my favourite nephew, Derek Hale!"

Stiles has already ribbed Derek for what a family affair the show is. There's his uncle presenting, his sister and cousin also dancing, and he thinks Talia Hale is involved somewhere, though Jeff Davis calls the shots on the show. Stiles is pretty sure he wouldn't be here without Jeff.

Right now though, Stiles' focus is all on Derek as the man comes out - half naked, of course, because what would _Let's Dance_ be if Derek had a shirt on - and freaking somersaults his way down the stage to finish in front of Stiles with a flourishy little bow. Show off, my god.

"I'm your only nephew, Uncle Peter," Derek says mildly, but he's smiling at Stiles and it's doing things.

"You're welcome," Peter replies dryly. "I see you only managed to get half-dressed again. It's a shame all our cost efficiencies seem to involve the sacrifice of parts of your wardrobe. What do you say, Stiles?"

Stiles swallows and tries to remember how to speak. Of course auto-pilot kicks in with sass. At least it ventures out of topless territory. "How come I don't get picked up and twirled around like Kira?"

Derek arches one of those impressive eyebrows, then a smirk spreads over his mouth and Stiles knows he's in trouble.

One very unmanly shriek later, Stiles is dangling from Derek's bare shoulder in a fireman's lift as everyone else guffaws.

"How's this?" Derek asks, and he's being a smirky bastard, Stiles knows it.

"I think you need to work on your technique," Stiles replies, though as he looks down at Derek's bare back and ass in those tight pants it's difficult to find that much to complain about.

Derek snorts.

"You gonna put me down now?" Stiles asks, aware that whilst he gets to admire Derek's ass, it's his own backside currently aimed at the camera beside Derek's face. Though ha, maybe it'll improve viewer numbers.

"It's fine," says Derek. "You wanted me to pick you up."

"Well it's good to see you both getting on so well," says Peter. "Comfortable up there, Stiles?"

"Not sure about comfortable," says Stiles. "Your nephew's not exactly well padded, but I have a pretty spectacular view."

That causes a fresh round of laughter, except from Derek who actually smacks Stiles on the ass. "Behave."

He just got spanked on TV! Stiles squawks and swats back. "You behave!"

"Well, folks," says Peter, talking to the camera. "I think it's safe to say this series is going to be interesting! Let's say bye to our first couples as they head off for their first three weeks of dance: It's Scott and Kira, and Derek and Stiles!"

And so Stiles makes his first exit slung over Derek's shoulder, Kira and Scott walking ahead of them hand in hand and waving. It takes a somewhat herculean effort on Stiles' part to crane around and wave, too, but he manages it. What an impression to make.

"And cut!"

Well, it could have been worse.

* * *

"You realise that's going to be the next front page picture, right?" Stiles asks. It's an hour or so later and they're out at lunch. They'd had to hang around and do little interviews about their first impressions and then a big group shot with the rest of the contestants, but it had gone pretty smoothly. Now Stiles is finally able to rag on Derek a little for their exit. "It'll be Scott and Kira's faces, their smiling and their waving, and your face and my ass."

"Also smiling and waving," Derek points out. He's scanning a menu at the diner they've chosen whilst Kira and Scott sit across from them trying to muffle their laughter. "Besides, it's a nice ass."

"That's not--" Stiles' face heats. "You've been looking at my ass?"

"You were looking at mine," Derek points out, turning to look at him. His face this time. "You said so on camera. There's evidence."

"That's not--" Stiles flaps his hands.

"You guys are so cute!" Kira exclaims, giggling.

Stiles is comforted to see Derek's ears turn red at that.

"I didn't know you were getting on so well," says Scott, knowing and very unsubtle.

"Oh my god," Stiles groans, covering his face with his hands.

"Aww, just remember what Danny told you," Kira comforts.

"What did Danny tell you?" Scott asks.

Stiles drops his head against the tabletop with a thunk.

Derek pats his shoulder. "What did Danny say?"

Stiles is so very not answering that question. "Nothing--" he claims at the same time as Kira says, "That romance sells."

Derek chuckles. "He's right, but I don't think you could call it romance."

"Thank you!" Stiles shoots upright, gesturing at Scott and Kira. "You two on the other hand: they'll be putting anime hearts in your eyes and all around your heads."

Scott and Kira both immediately sit up straighter, moving further apart.

"We weren't--"

"That wasn't--"

Derek elbows Stiles' in the side. Hard.

"Ow!" Stiles pouts, rubbing where Derek struck. "Abuse!"

"Play nice," Derek tells him, nodding across the table to where Scott and Kira are both looking a bit red and awkward.

Stiles feels a pang of guilt. "Sorry guys. You just looked really cute together, okay?"

"He's right," Derek says. "You're going to be difficult to beat - you'll have pull with the public."

Kira smiles that shy smile. "So will you guys."

"I guess we were a bit flirty," Stiles acknowledges, shooting a look at Derek. It's easier to focus on that than the mountain they'll be climbing between the anti-gay and anti-addict hysteria. "You really had to smack my ass?"

Derek leers playfully, making Scott and Kira crack up again.

Stiles punches him in his stupidly hard bicep, but there's no real aggression to it.

"Hi guys, can I take your orders?" asks the waiter. He's a young brunette, fairly bored until his eyes catch on Kira. "Oh! H-hi. You're Kira Yukimura, right?"

Stiles exchanges a glance with Scott. Of course Kira is the most famous of their little posse, even with Stiles' latest splash through the headlines. She's both a singer and an actress with quite a few movie roles under her belt, known for liking more action orientated roles than chick flicks. She's definitely what people would normally categorise as too famous for a show like _Let's Dance_.

"I am, pleased to meet you, Grant," Kira says, reading his name tag. "This is Scott McCall and Derek Hale from _Let's Dance_ , and my fellow contestant Stiles Stilinski."

"Oh wow," says Grant, looking at them afresh. "Would you guys maybe sign something for me?"

"Sure," says Kira, accepting the guy's order book and starting to write. "You ever watched the show?"

Stiles snorts softly, because whilst he can totally imagine this teenager perving over Kira's bikini clad photo shoots, he doubts he's a fan of ballroom dance unless his mom watches it. Under his breath Stiles murmurs to Derek, "Maybe we should write our orders down, too?"

Derek elbows him again, because Derek is apparently a violent person. Thankfully it isn't so hard this time. "Be nice, Stiles."

"What? He's too busy making cow eyes at Kira to notice me," Stiles hisses.

"Jealous?" asks Derek, voice low as Kira, Scott and Grant chatter across the table.

"No," Stiles scoffs. Except maybe he is. Maybe he always hoped to be a good role model, use the spotlight for the best, and he knows he fucked up and he resents it a bit, the reminder of failure.

"I notice you," Derek tells him lowly, his leg nudging Stiles' under the table. It flashes through Stiles' mind that it's not a very brotherly thing to do. It makes him hope.

Stiles feels caught by Derek's gaze. He remembers he's going to have to dance with this amazing man and try to be professional. Except he doesn't feel very professional as he nudges his knee back against Derek's, "Thanks."

Derek smiles at him, a thing of beauty, and then bloody Grant goes and interrupts them with, "So, err, can I take your orders?"

Scott's pushing the order pad at Stiles to sign, smile knowing as he glances at Derek and back to Stiles.

Stiles chooses to ignore him and sign the paper. They're gonna finish these signatures and place their orders and have a good lunch. And Stiles is going to revel in the victory of how good his first day feels, because he's not shaking or desperate for a hit.

And so what if Stiles' leg is still nudged against Derek's? Maybe he has a shot, and maybe he's allowed to be happy. Maybe Scott and Kira are the same. And maybe, for once, when he thinks of Allison and how she'd be happy for him, it hurts a bit less.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles has somehow come to possess a pair of heels (it was all a bit of a blur yesterday afternoon after lunch). It's got something to do with Derek. But not, as might be expected and deemed excusable, anything to do with the Rocky Horror Picture Show. (Derek had said they could revisit that in the Halloween week though, so Stiles is trying to work out what type of dance you'd do 'Creature of the Night' just so Derek has to do a whole thing in tiny gold shorts.)

Now Stiles is trying to psych himself up to wearing his new heels over breakfast, because he needs to head to the studio for his first proper rehearsal later and it would apparently be ideal if he learnt to even walk in these stupid shoes before then. Heels. Gods.

This is why his father and Lydia bustle in to find him sat at the kitchen island with coffee, a chocolate spread and peanut butter toasted sandwich (seriously, Reeses for breakfast, people!) and a pair of heeled dance shoes in front of him.

"They work better on your feet," Lydia remarks, which is apparently her new version of hello.

"Hi Son," says his dad, because he understands how mere mortals are meant to interact, and takes a seat at the island across from Stiles as Lydia attends to coffee. The heels sit between them, ominous.

"Hey Dad," Stiles replies, just to underline how greetings are supposed to work, before turning a look of betrayal on Lydia. "They are _heels_ , Lydia."

"Barely," Lydia scoffs, turning a dainty ankle toward him to demonstrate the lethal and ridiculous six inch stiletto she's wearing. "You really have nothing to complain about - consider the girls on the show."

Stiles purses his lips because Kira _had_ fared much worse, but she was also _used_ to wearing heels. Stiles was _not_ used to it, so he didn't care if one tiny inch that mostly looked like a raised sole was nothing to complain about. "I'm going to break my leg. You know how badly my coordination sucks. Dad, tell her."

His dad frowned, scratching the back of his neck. "You do have pretty poor coordination, kiddo."

"Don't encourage him." Lydia sets a coffee in front of Mayor Stilinski. "Just put the shoes on, Stiles. If you don't at least try and wear them in, your feet will feel worse later."

"I'm not sure the job of personal aide includes telling the mayor what to do," Stiles bitches.

"No, it definitely does," says his dad, sipping his coffee. "Thank you, Lydia."

Lydia smirks at Stiles. "Shoes on. We have something we need to speak to you about."

Stiles glances from Lydia to his dad's more serious expression, nerves balling in his stomach. "You remember that's not a great way to start conversations with me, right?"

Lydia pushes the box with the shoes balanced on top toward him.

"That's enough, Lydia, thank you," says his dad, giving her a pointed look. "Give us a minute?"

Lydia huffs, folding her arms across her chest. "I'll be in the study; you have ten minutes before we need to go."

Stiles raises an eyebrow at his father as Lydia walks - pointedly clacking her heels, he thinks - out of the room. "Um?"

"Ignore her," says his dad with a sigh. "I've been asked to do a talk by an LGBT group."

Stiles relaxes because his dad - unlike every other person he knows, it seems - understands that leaving Stiles dangling plays havoc with his nerves. Now, finally, Stiles reaches for the heels. "Is this you breaking it to me that you can't do it because of the anti-gay vote?"

Silence greets that comment, making Stiles glance up from undoing the shoes. His dad's giving him a severely unimpressed look.

"Ah, so maybe not that?" Stiles flushes a bit.

"I thought you knew me better than that," says his dad.

Stiles shrugs one shoulder guiltily, sliding out of his seat in order to pull the shoes on. "You and Lydia were the ones who made it sound all serious. LGBT talks would be good news otherwise, right?"

"Depends how you feel about the specifics," his dad replies. "They want a talk for parents of addicts."

Stiles freezes for a moment, swallows, then carries on shoving his feet into the hell shoes. "My being an addict has nothing to do with my being bi."

His dad says nothing immediately. "Stiles, it's stress that makes people more vulnerable to addiction because they treat it as a coping mechanism. You've had, to my mind, three major sources of stress. First, your mother dying. Second, the media attention because of me. Third, that underneath all that you've felt the need to keep your sexuality and your relationships secret. Are you really trying to tell me that you've never once struggled because of it? That my trying to be there for you and be understanding of it doesn't make any difference to you?"

Stiles hunches his shoulders, glaring down at the shoes now on his feet. "I don't want be responsible for another negative LGBT image. Or, well, I don't want to make it worse."

"You don't think you're doing more good than harm?" asks his dad.

Stiles scoffs, but reaches to pull himself up and stand in the dance shoes. He glares at his dad. "That's not how that phrase goes and you know it."

"It's how it goes for this. Think about it: for all those people with similar experiences to yours, they can look up to you and see what they can achieve. It's only the really narrow minded who will see bad things." His dad has this earnest expression on his face. "I just want you to think about it, okay? I'd be talking about you and our relationship in a lot more detail than normal. I'm not going to do it unless you're happy about it."

Stiles is still waiting for the day that his dad loses the ability to make him feel like a naughty five year old when he's facetious. He thinks he should be old enough by now, surely, but he's also resigning himself to the fact it may never come. "Sorry. I appreciate that. I'll let you know, okay?"

"Thank you," says his dad, coming around the island to squeeze his shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad." Stiles covers his dad's hand, shifting in place. "I hate these shoes already."

Mayor Stilinski snorts. "Can't help you there."

"You don't want a pair of these bad boys?" Stiles asks in mock shock.

"No," his dad replies, releasing Stiles to grab his coffee. "And since we both know Lydia's about to charge back in here, I'll leave you to them, okay?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah. And I'll let you know later, okay?"

"No rush," his dad assures.

Stiles nods again, waving him away and looking back down at his feet. Is he ready to be laid that bare? He has some thinking to do. And a shower to take.

He totally doesn't trip on his way out of the kitchen. Really.

* * *

Three hours later and Stiles is at the dance studio putting the death shoes on again. He hasn't found any sympathy in Derek, who's completely comfortable in his own pair of practice shoes.

"So, I have here our first dance assignment," Derek tells him, holding up a golden envelope with a little flourish. 

There's a camera crew in the corner that Stiles has been told to ignore. Allegedly they won't be there that much, but he's acutely aware of them anyway. Because Derek, of course, looks all sexy and shit, even in sweatpants and a vest top. By contrast, Stiles is pretty sure he just looks tired and washed out in his black tee and sweats.

"Could it please be a walk?" Stiles asks plaintively. "I might master a walk in three weeks."

"You'll be managing a lot more than that by the end of today," Derek tells him, tossing the envelope at him. It spins and hits Stiles in the chest when he fumbles trying to catch it. Derek continues on regardless; he's in dance mode or something. "I've picked some music already. It seems appropriate to you."

Stiles eyes him suspiciously, but opens up the envelope, sliding out a card that says in bold Calibri: Tango. "Huh."

"It's a passionate dance," Derek says, eyes on Stiles. He's closed the distance between them and extends a hand to Stiles to help him up. "Celebrities often struggle with how close you need to be because we dance in closed embrace."

"Close?" Stiles asks, taking Derek's hand as he sets the card down. His absolutely does not think anything about the firmness of Derek's hold. Oh god, this does not sound promising for Stiles' self-control.

"Close," Derek agrees, pulling Stiles to his feet and leading him out into the centre of the practice studio; Stiles is quite proud when he doesn't fall over. Then Derek releases Stiles' hand, taking hold of his hips instead as he steps in close so their groins and thighs are together, interlocking. "Hip to hip."

Stiles swallows roughly. "Close, I see."

So screwed. So utterly screwed.

"Now, unless you object, I still intend to lead," Derek tells him, except it's hard to concentrate on Derek's words when he's all pressed up against Stiles' front. And when Stiles has a front row view to how strong Derek's shoulders are and the little patch of hair exposed in the v of the vest top.

"Uh," Stiles says intelligently.

Derek steps back, frowning, "Is that a problem?"

"What was the question?" Stiles asks.

Derek smirks at him. Bastard. "I said I still intended to lead, unless that was a problem?"

"Oh, no, you're welcome to top-lead! I meant lead!" Stiles turns bright red. There's a camera in the room, god damn it.

Derek's face does a funny spasm thing and it takes Stiles a moment to realise he's just trying really hard not to laugh.

"Oh my god, shut up," Stiles complains. "Otherwise I'll be the one leading."

"I've no problem with that," Derek replies, eyebrow arched in challenge. "I'm quite versatile."

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. He really has no idea what to do with that information. "Maybe we should get back to dancing."

"We _are_ discussing dancing, aren't we?" Derek replies, and he's got this twinkle in his eye.

"You're an asshole," Stiles complains. "Show me what I'm supposed to be doing?"

"Okay," Derek agrees. "So posture is very important here. Shoulders back, chin up. You aren't allowed to look at your feet," Derek instructs, stepping back in close again. "Now your right hand will be placed in my left, and your left hand is held up at a right angle to the back of my shoulder below the shoulder blade."

"Not on your shoulder?" Stiles asks.

"No, or I'd have said 'on my shoulder'," says Derek, and his eyes twinkle. "Assume the position."

"All right, smart ass." Stiles shoots him a little glare but does as he's told.

"Hold that position," Derek tells him, stepping out of the embrace in order to move around Stiles. "Keep that elbow higher."

It's takes thirty seconds for Stiles to realise how exhausting this is going to be for his noodle-like T-Rex arms. He barely lifts the elbow in question - his left - and he wants to drop it again.

"I said shoulders back," Derek reminds him from behind, laying hands on the shoulders in question and pulling back. Then he slides his hand around under Stiles' chin, leaving a trail of distracting tingles in his wake. "And chin up."

"I didn't realise this was going to be that hands on," Stiles mutters, trying to keep focused on the pose. He's suddenly regretting years of ignoring comments on his posture.

"If you could follow verbal instruction it wouldn't be necessary," Derek replies, and then his hand's sliding down Stiles' back to his ass, the other splayed over Stiles' belly. "Don't stick your ass out either."

"You're totally just using this as an excuse to feel me up," Stiles accuses, trying to stay focused because Derek still has his hand on Stiles' backside and is pushing firmly forward whilst pulling back against his belly.

"Elbow up," Derek replies. "Ready to try stepping in that position?"

"No," Stiles says helpfully. "What music did you pick anyway?"

"Wrecking Ball," Derek replies, and then takes Stiles' hips in his hands again and starts manoeuvring him so he has to step back. The fact Derek is standing behind him makes him more aware of not sticking his ass out.

Stiles goes with it, inelegantly, until his brain catches up to Derek's words and his posture goes out of the window. "Wait a minute, Miley Cyrus? We're doing a tango to Miley Cyrus?!"

"Yes," Derek replies. "Ass, Stiles."

"No, no 'ass, Stiles'," Stiles objects, still stumbling along with Derek's guidance. He hates these shoes. "Miley Cyrus?"

"You're trying to tell me you don't think 'I came in like a wrecking ball' is appropriate to your style of entrance?" Derek challenges him, then actually smacks him on the bottom. Again. "Ass in!"

"That isn't--hey!" Stiles pulls free, spinning to face him. "Enough with the smacking on camera."

Derek blinks at him, surprised. "I--sorry."

Stiles flushes. Now he's made it awkward. Shit. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--"

"Stiles, no," Derek says. "It's fine. If you're not comfortable with anything, just say it, okay? And you have a point anyway - I hadn't really noticed I was doing it and I'd never have done it with a female partner."

Stiles nods after a moment. "Yeah, okay. But it's just that it's embarrassing on TV, okay? It's not like, a thing, that I hate it or anything."

Derek nods. "Okay, ready to get back into position?"

"..." Stiles eyes him. "You're doing that on purpose."

Derek crooks a finger at him to come closer, taking up his own start position. "I don't know what you mean. Come and dance with me. Once you have the basics I can start teaching you the actual choreography."

Stiles huffs but comes in nearer, placing his hand into Derek's. "Like this?"

"Closer," says Derek,

Stiles shuffles microscopically, which just results in Derek grabbing him by the butt and pulling him tight against him.

"That's okay, right?" Derek asks, hand on Stiles' ass.

Stiles grits his teeth against a squeak or gasp or anything. "Peachy."

"Not that round," says Derek, and winks as Stiles' face flames. "Now, I'm going to start by stepping forward with my left foot, so you step backward with your right."

"I might be able to do that," Stiles agrees, willing his face to cool off. He can totally take one step without falling over, even if Derek this close is knee-weakening.

Derek looks dubious. "Okay, on four."

Stiles focuses and does exactly as he's been told and they manage one step with no one treading on anyone's feet. "Hey, we did it!"

"Elbow up," Derek tells him. "Now left foot."

"You're allowed to say well done," Stiles whines.

"When you earn it," Derek agrees. "Now we're making an L shape so we start to move to the side with the next step."

"Yes, sir," Stiles agrees. "Right?"

"Right," Derek agrees, guiding.

Stiles follows, grinning a bit. He hasn't fallen over yet! He's really dancing and stuff, and he's all close to Derek and he hasn't sprouted a boner despite the completely unsubtle flirting. This has to count as a win, right?

And so, of course, then Stiles does something wrong and trips over his own feet, grabbing at Derek who, fool that he is, doesn't seem to be expecting it. Next thing they're both on the floor though thankfully Derek catches himself and doesn't land all his muscle mass on poor weedy Stiles.

"Ah, so, that happened," says Stiles, flushing. He's a bit pinned in place under Derek. "Sorry, but at least you can start getting used to it?"

Derek is giving him a faintly disbelieving look, then rolls his eyes in what Stiles chooses to believe is fond exasperation. He levers himself off Stiles to sit beside him. "Maybe I should get crash mats in here."

"Dude, it wasn't that bad!" Stiles protests, though his aching back attests that yes it was, ow.

"You fell over on the fourth step," Derek points out.

"I'm in heels," Stiles defends. "I'm not used to heels."

"They barely count," Derek replies, glancing past Stiles.

And that's when Stiles remembers the cameras and that his blunder has been caught for posterity. "Oh balls. They're totally going to show that on TV, aren't they?"

"Probably," Derek agrees, a small smile stealing over his lips. "I think it's a new record for how quickly a contestant's ended up flat on their back with me."

Stiles bites his lip because that was awful and he's not--who's he kidding? He can't help but laugh, stifled sniggers.

It's worth it for the way Derek grins at him. "You really okay?"

Stiles nods, "Yeah, but your jokes are awful."

"Good thing I'm not a comedian then," says Derek, and gracefully gets back on his feet, extending a hand to Stiles. "Let's go again."

"Yes, sir," says Stiles, putting his hand back in Derek's. It's day one, after all, he can only get better.

* * *

By the next day, they no longer have camera accompaniment and Derek is adding music to the mix. Even if it is Wrecking Ball. Stiles is pretending his feet don't hurt, and that his arms don't hurt. The latter is more concerning because it was practically painful to wank this morning with his strained muscles.

"I think we might be better off minimising the amount of time out of hold," Derek observes as Stiles fumbles his way into their hold position.

"Sorry," Stiles mumbles.

"It's day two, Stiles," Derek reminds him. "You're doing fine, but most people struggle to remain in proper form out of hold early in the competition."

Stiles nods. "Okay, makes sense. So, we start like this?"

Derek looks torn.

"You wanted to start out of hold, right?" Stiles asks.

Derek nods after a moment. "I want you to walk out and approach me. Embrace the story of the song - we used to be in a relationship. I was very guarded, uncommunicative, and you're an emotive individual who tried to break through that. It broke down. Now you still want me but you've seen that you've probably missed your chance."

"...this sounds like the dance of Stiles being desperate for Derek," Stiles observes, eyeing him. "Derek's Ego Dance."

The tips of Derek's ears turn red. "We can reverse the roles, but it generally helps if the focus of the song is the celebrity as far as acting it goes."

"Uh huh," Stiles agrees. "Okay, so I start out of hold - why aren't we doing that?"

"I want you to practice posture in hold more first," Derek replies. "So you'll have come to me and we get into hold like this and start to dance together. I want basic steps initially. There will be a few progressive rocks - we shift our weight to add that extra drama. We'll promenade with a few kicks. I want a section in the chorus where we sink to the floor together in an embrace and then you shove me away."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Stiles murmurs, trying not to focus too much on the sound of 'embrace'. In moments like this, his aching feet are a welcome distraction.

"That's not the whole routine, but we'll see how we go," says Derek. "It's week one, we mostly need the basics and we don't have too much time to fill."

Stiles nods. "Let's do this."

"On four," says Derek. "We run through the steps twice then a little stationary footwork."

At least they're likely to make it through the initial steps after yesterday. Stiles is grateful that he's already finding it easier to concentrate in proximity to Derek.

"Progressive rock involves a larger single step instead of two quick and shifting your weight - you'll take a step back and shift your weight forward. Here, and now," says Derek.

Stiles is genuinely following Derek's lead intently but that's still not enough warning and he stumbles forward against Derek's chest, "Shit, sorry."

Except Derek's caught him so when he starts to stumble upright he finds himself caught close. His eyes meet Derek's again and the whole mood has changed, become charged. He swears he sees Derek's gaze dip to his mouth and he thinks maybe they're going to--

"Oh crap, am I interrupting?"

Derek springs back so quickly that Stiles almost faceplants. Thankfully Derek steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. "Not at all, come in."

Stiles is a bit bewildered by the abrupt change, turning to glimpse a woman in the doorway. She looks a little ill, too thin and pale or she'd be gorgeous with her dark hair and striking eyes. "Um. Hi."

She smiles at them. "Hi. Hope you don't mind me dropping in - Der said it'd be okay?"

"You know you're always welcome," Derek replies warmly, apparently recovered as he approaches her and draws her into a hug, kissing her cheek. "Good to see you out." He turns immediately to Stiles, "Stiles, this is my sister, Laura."

Stiles blinks because he'd thought Derek's sister was a Cora, but he smiles and approaches. "Hi, sorry. Despite appearances, I'm not really trying to maim your brother."

Laura chuckles and it lights up her face. "He deserves a bit of maiming."

Derek rolls his eyes.

"So, your practice going any better?" Stiles asks.

"My practice?" Laura echoes.

"I thought you danced, too?" Stiles ventures, looking between them and just catching Derek shaking his head too late to change the course of the sentence.

"Oh! No, that's Cora," says Laura. She glances at Derek, a cautious anxiety in her eyes. "I guess I came too soon?"

"Not at all," says Derek. "You're welcome any time."

"I get the feeling I'm missing something," says Stiles.

Laura shakes her head. "Sorry, no. I just told Derek I wanted to come meet you and wish you both luck."

Stiles still feels he's missing something, but he's willing to go with it. "Thanks, I appreciate it. I'm really hoping I don't let people down."

"You won't," says Laura, smile chasing away that anxiety. "You're showing that people with addiction can still achieve things."

"Hope so," says Stiles, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he thinks back to yesterday. "My dad's been asked to do this talk on that sort of thing - how parents can support people like me, particularly LGBT."

"You didn't tell me that," says Derek, almost sounding hurt.

"Dude, we've barely done anything but drill dance moves since yesterday," Stiles defends, because he's still not managed to ask Derek about Chris and Allison either, which was top of his list except he liked how he didn't really have to think when he danced. Or rather, he needed to focus on the steps. "I didn't want to dump on you."

"You can always dump on me," Derek replies.

"He's good to dump on," Laura puts in. "And it sounds good, what your dad's doing. People need to understand better. You're doing a good thing."

"Thanks," Stiles says, to both of them.

They lapse to a slightly awkward silence, because Stiles has remembered he doesn't really know Laura (or Derek, if he's honest) and it's a topic he feels uncomfortable about even with those he does know.

"Okay, well I might pop in and see Cora," says Laura, glancing between them. "See you later, okay Der?"

"Later," Derek agrees, kissing her cheek again.

Laura smiles at him and waves to Stiles as she withdraws.

Stiles waves back, glancing to Derek because he has questions.

Derek shakes his head minutely. "You want to take a break and dump for a bit, or you want to press on?"

What Stiles really wants is to ask personal questions about Chris and Allison, and why Laura looks sick. Stiles has to be honest with himself - Laura looks how he'd expect an addict to look and she talks like one, except that Stiles researched Derek and there was nothing about addiction relating to his sister, and Stiles has first hand experience in knowing there's no way to keep that secret. So Stiles is at a loss and he doesn't think Derek's opened that door to him when it comes to asking questions. Instead he's trying to piece clues together. He remembers how Derek said he wanted to do the show for his sister and worries if she's dying or something terrible. But Stiles just doesn't know Derek well enough for that conversation at all. So Stiles goes with Derek's option number two, because it's only day two and he feels okay, and he doesn't want to think too much.

"I'll press on," Stiles tells him. "But let me call my dad quick first?"

He'd promised he'd let him know after all. And maybe Stiles needs a few minutes to recover before he's back in hold with Derek.

Hopefully a few minutes will be enough.


	5. Chapter 5

"We're having a date night?!" Stiles repeats dumbly.

It's the second week of their rehearsals and they'd each arrived with a cheerful 'I have news!'. Also, the cameras are back, which may play a role in how painful what follows feels.

So Stiles' news had been that Kira wanted to organise a get together for the contestants, which had been a gradual step toward trapping Derek into a surprise date, before all the flirting kills Stiles by blue balls. Except now Derek's suggested an actual date! No longer will Stiles' tombstone have to read 'here lies he that was killed by exploding testes'.

"No," says Derek quickly. "Well, not like that."

Or maybe the tombstone won't change.

"Oh." Stiles suspects he conceals his disappointment poorly.

"Unless you wanted it to be?" Derek ventures, gaze speculative.

Stiles narrows his eyes. "Why? Do you want it to be?"

This, ladies and gentleman, is why Stiles will be single forever. He still operates at a basic (read: preschool) level of flirting. If Derek had pigtails, he'd be pulling them.

Derek looks amused. "The problem with your dancing is a lack of control so our pseudo-date will be all about control over oneself."

Stiles squints one eye at Derek and tries not to think Fifty Shades of Grey, but he'd be lying if he claimed his mind hadn't immediately gone to Derek in leather with a whip. Stiles clears his throat. "Maybe you should clarify?"

Derek smirks. "What do you think I mean?"

The ceiling, Stiles thinks, is fascinating. Much like the floor, or the wall. Maybe the window. Most places that aren't Derek's face or any part of Derek really. "Things to do with control...?"

Derek raises an eyebrow, motioning for Stiles to finish the thought. He makes a subtle gesture at the camera.

Stiles gives him a quizzical look right back. Is Derek expecting him to guess? He has no idea...

"Things to do with control...?" Derek prompts.

Stiles is bemused, gaze locked with Derek's as Derek seems to be trying to convey some unspoken message to him. Stiles isn't getting it at all.

Then the penny drops. Cameras mean flirting.

"Things to do with control..." Stiles repeats, and Derek nods, so he adds, "...sir?"

Derek's expression goes blank with surprise, which feels a little over the top considering it had been the obvious response there. But there go Derek's ears turning red at the tops and now Stiles is bound to end up blushing because clearly that was not where Derek was going.

"Ah, I didn't--"

There is honest to god snickering from the camera man. Stiles wants to die.

"Yeah, okay, not that," Stiles makes a cutting gesture. His cheeks are burning. He's very much back to avoiding looking at Derek, except it's so car crash he keeps glancing back. "What did you mean?"

Derek looks pretty awkward. It would be hilarious if Stiles weren't mortified at trying a kinky flirt and getting smacked down on camera.

"I was thinking a ballet class," Derek says meekly.

"That makes more--what?" Stiles looks at Derek sharply. "Ballet?"

"A friend of mine runs a class," says Derek. "I used to assist."

Stiles folds his arms across his chest. "I'm not wearing a tutu."

Derek just looks him up and down - like a real once over on camera - then shrugs and turns away from him, heading toward the CD player in the corner of the practice studio.

"Derek," says Stiles, less sure now. "Tell me I'm not wearing a tutu?"

"I'm not in charge of costume," says Derek, wonderfully evasive. "Which, by the way, we need to confirm with wardrobe pretty soon for our Tango."

"...I don't have to do that in my briefs, do I?" Stiles remembers that music video all too well. "I might be open to the lipstick."

Derek's opened his mouth to reply as he comes back to Stiles with the remote control but then stops short, eyes fixed on Stiles' mouth.

"Derek?" Stiles prompts, flicking a quick look at the camera.

Derek shakes his head. "Why would you be in your briefs?"

"They usually try to costume to match the song?" Stiles suggests. "Have you not seen the music video?"

"I'm clearly not as big a Miley Cyrus fan as you," says Derek, and he's back to manhandling Stiles into position. "Show the nice camera men the opening to our dance."

"You mean the Derek's Ego dance?" Stiles asks, cutting him a pointed look. "When are we going to our ballet lesson date anyway?"

"Tonight if you're free," says Derek, then starts the music. "Focus, please? One, two, three, four..."

Stiles nods, taking a deep breath and assuming his starting stance, counting with Derek before he begins to move. It's meant to be simple - some fluid gestures, a sharper finish, but graceful steps that carry him to Derek and into hold. Meant to be is the operative part of that description, but he's getting there!

Derek smiles and nods to him as Stiles moves clumsily into his arms, starting the steps. He has the same amused grin on his face as he tells the camera, "And there you see why the ballet."

Stiles huffs but he keeps stepping. He's getting better, damn it.

* * *

Stiles has reached the point where he seems to ache constantly and it's only his second week of practice. It's lunchtime and he staggers to the cafeteria. Derek's abandoned him in favour of organising their so-called date, which is fine because Stiles needs some Derek-free time to centre himself before he starts humping Derek in the middle of the dance or something. Derek gets grouchy when he does the wrong steps so it's probably best avoided.

"Stiles, you okay?" Scott asks, eyeing him sceptically as Stiles joins the table he and Kira are sitting at gingerly. There are another couple of girls there who look familiar: they're both dark haired, dark eyed and gorgeous. Definitely Stiles' type since they have a bit of haughty superior in there, too. Lucky Scott with all three ladies to himself.

"I'm not sure," Stiles replies honestly, smiling at the ladies. "Hi."

"Derek working you hard?" asks one girl, smirking a bit.

"Like a dog," Stiles whines. "I ache everywhere."

The other girl raises her eyebrow, amused. It's very familiar.

"This is Malia and Cora Hale," Kira introduces, nodding to first one and then the other. "Malia's--"

"Derek's cousin, I remember," Stiles says, holding out a hand to her. Apparently his type is 'Hale' - this is not surprising. "Pleased to meet you."

"And I'm the other sister," Cora says, shaking his hand in turn. "I hear you met Laura."

"Briefly," Stiles agrees, wondering again about how sickly Laura had seemed. "Is she okay?"

"At the moment," Cora confirms, in that sort of tone that shuts the line of conversation down. "Where's Derek?"

"Organising our 'date' apparently," Stiles says, turning his attention toward the fries he'd gotten for lunch.

"Good date?" Kira asks, nudging him in the arm and wiggling her brows.

"Oh, this sounds interesting," Malia props her chin in her hand. "You have designs on our Derek?"

Cora looks intrigued, but she's at least not leaning in like Kira and Malia. It's possibly worse - she has the assessing sort of look big brothers usually give the prospective boyfriends of their little sisters before threatening to chop their balls off. Stiles' balls might actually have shrunk back up to his body a little. He shoots Scott a 'help' look and tries not to get distracted by the idea of Derek dressed as anyone's little sister, because weird.

"Dude," says Scott, because he knows the expression on Stiles' face that well. "What the hell is happening in your head right now?"

"I don't know, Scotty," Stiles says sadly.

"Um?" Kira looks confused.

"Derek's taking me to a ballet class and I may have to wear a tutu." Stiles just throws the words out there to rescue himself because Stiles in a tutu is apparently better than Derek dressed like a little girl for a first impression.

There's a moment of silence and then they all burst out laughing. Scott's shaking his head. "Dude, how do you even get in these situations?"

"Part of my natural charm," Stiles sighs. "Where are you guys taking your dates?"

"Scott's taking me to see Cinderella," Kira says, grinning.

"Waltz, huh?" Stiles asks.

"Yep!" Kira's smile is wide, and so is Scott's.

Cora and Malia look less thrilled when Stiles turns to them. He pauses. "Hang on, where are your partners anyway?"

"Adrian is on a call," Malia explains, rolling her eyes. "He's been on more calls than he's attended rehearsals."

"Jackson supposedly went to the bathroom," Cora says. "I'd guess the hold up is somewhere between his eternal constipation and the time it takes to remove the stick."

"...wow." Stiles blinks. He recalls who they're talking about: Adrian Harris is a stuffy political correspondent on some news channel that Lydia's already warned Stiles about; and Jackson Whittemore is a famous and ridiculously arrogant race car driver known for womanising. Sounds like they're both making brilliant impressions on their partners.

Kira and Scott both look a bit torn over what to say.

Malia shrugs. "Adrian's not actually that bad; he's just not good. He doesn't seem to like dancing though, so I don't understand why he's doing the show."

"Jackson's good," Cora says, making a face. "He had dance lessons growing up because he was in all those debutante type circles."

Malia nudges her. "So were we."

"We don't go on about it," Cora complains.

"So, fun dates planned, huh?" Stiles asks.

"Jackson's taking me to his race on Saturday," says Cora, sounding very put upon considering Stiles knows some people who'd see that as a dream date.

"What does that have to do with dance?" Stiles asks.

"Nothing." Cora shrugs. "His tango technique's pretty spot on."

"...he's doing the tango?" Stiles asks unhappily.

"Sorry," Cora says in that not-sorry way. "They like putting the sibling rivalry angle in with Derek and I."

Stiles wants to bang his head against the table, his appetite for fries dying. He hadn't ever really considered that he'd get all invested and be at risk of not getting through the first round.

"Adrian and I are just meeting a local ballroom group," Malia tells him helpfully.

"That sounds about as dire," Stiles agrees, and Malia pokes her tongue out at him.

"How are things going with Derek, anyway?" Kira asks, because apparently discussing that in front of Derek's family isn't at all awkward to her.

"Okay?" Stiles offers, scrunching his nose a bit. "I, err, well, I think my gracelessness is challenging him a bit."

"He's loving working with you," Malia tells him frankly. "Just enjoy it."

Stiles flicks a glance at Cora who just shrugs, not contradicting her cousin.

"Well, I'm loving working with Scott," Kira says.

Stiles smiles at how genuine Kira seems, and he notes the fond look on his best friend's face as Scott gazes at her. There's an expectant silence for Scott to fill, but he seems too absorbed in staring at Kira so Stiles fills it instead: "I think we can all tell he feels the same."

Scott blinks, looking up. "What? Oh! Yes."

Stiles snorts. "I am enjoying it though, honest. I'm having so much more fun than I expected, just because I thought I'd find it stressful and it's not, or at least it's not right now. I just focus on the dance and Derek and I joke around."

Malia, Kira and Scott are all grinning at him, and even Cora looks like she's bordering on a smile.

"That's the way it's supposed to be," says Malia.

"I'm sorry your partners aren't better behaved," Kira tells her and Cora.

Cora rolls her eyes. "It's not that bad - hell, Jackson might even win because he's that good."

Stiles doesn't think he likes this Jackson guy at all. "Derek and I are gonna make you work for that," he tells her.

"Hey, don't count Scott and I out," Kira protests.

They all look at Malia, and she just shrugs. "Ha, no. I'm not going to claim Adrian will win. But I'll be watching all of you as to who I'll bet on."

Stiles grins at her. He finds he likes Derek's relatives, and maybe that doesn't really matter right now but he's glad of it.

Their conversation continues to flow for the rest of lunch until the girls' partners return to retrieve them. It leaves Stiles very much looking forward to a group outing after the first show, and he returns to practice with Derek with a spring in his step.

* * *

Derek's friend the ballet instructor was a Mademoiselle Morrell who was every inch the stereotypically strict task mistress. She has an equally stereotypical studio in which a horde of elementary school girls are at ballet practice.

Stiles had arrived to be presented with a pair of tights, but thankfully no tutu. He still feels horribly exposed because, unlike Derek, Stiles doesn't have basketball shorts to wear over the tights so his tackle is like totally on display. But then since Derek has shorts on (and is standing behind Stiles), at least the potential for inappropriate reactions is reduced. Stiles isn't too keen to get arrested again after all.

"I hate you," Stiles tells Derek over his shoulder, attempting to do the weird movements Mademoiselle Morrell has instructed with significant difficulty. He keeps having to cling to the railing they're all holding so he doesn't topple over. It doesn't help that the five year old in front of him seems to be having no trouble at all.

"If you say so," Derek replies. "Stop sticking your ass out."

"What?" Stiles cranes around to see Derek looking at his butt again. "I think you're just obsessed with my ass."

"It's a very nice ass," Derek agrees. "But I'm only obsessed with you keeping it in the right place."

Stiles turns around before Derek sees him pout. There is no need to pout. He does another repetition - bend the knees, back straight, then straighten again. He has no idea what it's called and he's not really getting into the class, especially as the camera men have finished filming relevant excerpts so he doesn't need to feign interest. He keeps chattering to Derek instead. "So, I was wondering something, right."

"Yes?" Derek asks, reaching to pull back on Stiles' shoulder and press against the small of his back. Apparently Stiles' inexcusable posture must be addressed this minute.

Stiles acknowledges privately that Derek's hands on approach may be counter-productive when it comes to incentivising Stiles to do it properly. He likes Derek's firm grip.

"Was this the class you used to be an aide for?" Stiles asks, before he thinks too much about Derek's hands.

There's a moment of silence. "Did I mention that?"

"Chris Argent mentioned it," says Stiles. He tries for nonchalant but given what he's wearing, he doubts the sudden tension he feels is completely hidden. "Said you were an aide at one of Allison's classes for a few months?"

"He's right," Derek says. "Keep those shoulders down."

"I was surprised that he remembered you, if you weren't there that long," says Stiles, trying to encourage discussion. It was awkward without being able to see Derek's face, but he was seizing on the opportunity of not having a camera in front of him and not really having Derek be his direct tutor.

"I was actually there a couple of years," Derek replies. "I just left not long after Allison started."

"I hadn't realised you knew her," Stiles ventures.

"I didn't really, or I'd have mentioned it. She seemed sweet enough and she had a talent," Derek says, then switches to a more professional tone, "Remember to extend fully."

"She was sweet," Stiles agrees. "But really strong, determined, you know? She was my rock for that as much as Scott."

Derek lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'm sorry you lost her."

"Thanks," says Stiles, and focuses for a few moments on his ballet so he doesn't get all wobbly and emotional. Every time he thinks he's used to it, to how Allison is gone now, the rawness stabs at him anew from some unexpected direction. He breathes deeply, counting with his moves and really trying for a moment.

Mademoiselle Morrell comes by then, eyeing Stiles sceptically for several moments. She doesn't say anything to him, stepping on to tell Derek instead, "You have your work cut out with this one."

Stiles sighs, trying to shrug it off. It's difficult though. He doesn't generally give a shit what people think of him, except that's the whole point of the show and it's his dancing that's in question and now he knows how Jackson Whittemore's supposedly brilliant, the pressure's worse.

"I think you're wrong," says Derek. "You haven't seen how hard he's been working - he's already improved."

Stiles ducks his head on a smile, doing his best not to ruin the moment with a fist pump.

Then Derek ruins it for him, laying a firm palm on Stiles' ass and pushing forward, "He just needs to stop sticking this out."

Mademoiselle Morrell chuckles softly. "Maybe he's trying to tell you something."

Stiles stumbles a bit, half over the pat and half over the words as his face flames.

"Yes," Derek agrees, amused. "He's telling me he's a computer nerd used to craning forward over his laptop."

"You have no room to call me a nerd," Stiles objects, because Derek has a love of Game of Thrones that exceeds all reasonable fannish behaviours. He'd actually walked out of the rehearsal studio yesterday when Stiles had claimed to have read the books and teased him about spoilers. Stiles has learnt from this quickly.

"I'm not judging you for it," Derek says. "But you should be focusing on your dancing."

"I see," Mademoiselle Morrell observes. "I wish you both luck."

Stiles' face still feels hot, but he turns to nod to her. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Marin," Derek agrees, then reaches forward to turn Stiles' head back toward the front. "Face forward, chin up."

Stiles huffs and sticks his ass out just because, biting his lip against a grin.

Derek muffles a laugh from behind him. "You do realise there are no cameras here now?"

"Yup," says Stiles, his posture nothing short of appalling.

Derek smacks him soundly on the ass. "Behave."

Stiles cackles.

"Boys!" Mademoiselle Morrell calls from further back. "Please keep it PG."

Stiles rolls his eyes. Fat chance of anything but that, he thinks, but he'll take what he can get. Derek definitely doesn't seem to be making any effort to actively pursue him anyway, and maybe that's a bit liberating because he knows he can just... relax again.

"Stop getting me into trouble," Derek tells him more quietly.

Stiles cranes around to look at him. "If we can get out of here and get some dinner, I might?"

"You can't wait another ten minutes?" asks Derek.

Stiles pouts at him.

Derek raises an eyebrow.

Stiles tries for Scott-style puppy dog eyes. 

Derek sighs. "Fine, but you're having salad."

Stiles makes a face. "Now I know how my dad always feels."

"That mean you want to stay here?" Derek asks, raising his eyebrows.

Stiles shakes his head near violently, grabbing Derek's hand and towing him out the studio, Derek's laughter echoing in his wake. It makes Stile laugh, too.

This show, Stiles thinks, is the best thing he's ever done.


	6. Chapter 6

It's the day of the live shows, and Stiles has never wanted a hit more since he quit. He's even regained the twitch he hasn't had since the earliest days of withdrawal.

That's how Derek finds him in the men's restroom before their dress rehearsal, clutching the sink because he keeps trembling. He wants to blame his shakes on the cold - they have him in a white vest top and suspenders with the standard dance pants and shoes - but he knows it's nothing to do with that.

"How are you doing?" Derek asks him, coming up to touch his shoulder reassuringly.

"Can we swap costumes?" Stiles tries, because Derek looks gorgeous in all black, shirt long-sleeved but with the first few buttons undone. "I still think we're dressed the wrong way around."

"You look great," Derek tells him, changing his hold to both of Stiles' shoulders instead. He rubs his hands down Stiles' bare arms, as if to ward off the supposed chill. "You didn't answer my question."

Stiles eases his grip on the sink, leaning into Derek's hands. "I've been better."

"You don't need to worry," Derek reassures him. "You've been doing amazingly well."

"I still get the steps wrong half the time," Stiles protests, because he wrecked the whole dance with a wrong step yesterday.

"You're pretty good at covering that now though," Derek points out. He wraps Stiles in a hug, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "You're by far my favourite partner to have danced with; you give one hundred percent every time. You get to be proud whatever happens tonight, okay? But I know you'll be great."

Stiles flushes, reaching up abortively to clasp Derek's hand. It's in moments like this that it'd be easy to forget that Derek's just a tactile kind of guy. Maybe it's just something that comes with being a dancer, that Derek's accustomed to being up in other people's spaces, but it makes Stiles want more. Especially moments like now, when he looks in the mirror and he can see a couple staring back at him, the illusion of being held in his boyfriend's arms, a moment away from turning and kissing him to forget the nerves.

But they aren't there yet.

Stiles has his hopes, but right before the first live show isn't the time. So he deflects, rolling his eyes at Derek with a grin. "Don't get all sappy and shit on me, dude."

"You're welcome, Stiles," Derek replies, fond. He pulls back, squeezing Stiles' upper arms one last time. "Ready to come back out there and dance with me?"

Stiles takes stock and finds he is calm again. "Yeah, I am."

Fuck, Derek's like a new drug for him. It's a thought Stiles never really considered seriously before, and it catches him out of the blue as Derek releases him, stepping back to leave the restroom.

"Derek," says Stiles, stopping him in his tracks. "I don't lean on you too much, do I?"

Derek's expression is open surprise. "What makes you think that?"

"Like now," says Stiles. "You having to come in here."

Derek shakes his head, expression bleeding into a smile. "I have to do this every season. It's nice to come into the men's for a change, and there's no vomit involved this time."

Stile laughs a little, lapsing into a grin.

"Plus, I knew you'd come out on your own in time." Derek offers up his hand to Stiles. "Come on. And remember having support makes it easier. Doesn't make you any less strong for having to cope in the first place."

"You're pretty astute about this stuff sometimes, big guy," Stiles observes, taking his hand.

Derek squeezes it, quoting, "We're all what experience makes us."

Derek opens the door before Stiles can tease or ask, or really consider what response is most appropriate, only to be faced with Stiles' nemesis: Jackson Whittemore. Straight-douche extraordinaire. Stiles immediately prepares himself for some hardcore biting of his own tongue.

"Oh, I see," Jackson looks at their joined hands pointedly, and Stiles is about to let go when Derek tightens his grip. Jackson smirks. "That's how it is, huh? Apparently all the Hales are just as easy, but at least some have standards. Restroom before a show though? About as classy as you can expect from a junkie."

As many upsides as Stiles can find to Derek's muscles, there is one downside he overlooked: Stiles' own inability to restrain an angry Derek in any way. Perhaps it's mainly because Stiles has never seen an angry Derek before, but one moment Jackson's stood there smirking and the next Derek's punched him.

"Fuck!" Jackson swears, stumbling away clutching his face.

"Oh shit," Stiles says, reaching forward to lay a hand on Derek's arm - his bulging and unrestrainable bicep - "Derek, what the hell?"

"Oh my god, it was a joke, you maniac," Jackson bitches.

There are footsteps coming down the corridor - clacking high heels - drawn by the noise no doubt.

"I know all about your jokes," Derek snarls, and he's pulling free of Stiles. "Cora should've had you kicked off the show for that shit."

"Derek, what the hell?!" Cora shouts, because it's her advancing. Stiles only hopes she's here to help as he tries to capture Derek again. He feels completely lost beyond the fact Derek's obviously in overprotective big brother overdrive. 

"Laura said--" Derek starts, but apparently his fury is nothing on Cora's.

"I don't care what Laura said. I dealt with it myself," Cora hisses, dropping to a crouch beside Jackson and trying to assess the damage as she continues berating her brother. Stiles actually feels a bit sorry for Derek, but he uses the opportunity to wend his way in front of Derek, between him and Jackson.

"Come on, big guy, calm down," Stiles tells him, gripping Derek's shoulders and trying to catch Derek's gaze as Derek glowers at Jackson and Cora.

Unfortunately, that seems to be Jackson's cue: "He's just got his pants in a twist because I insulted his boyfriend."

Derek makes a noise that actually sounds like a growl and Stiles seriously considers whether wrapping his arms around Derek's waist and digging his heels in would make any difference at all if Derek tried to charge. It doesn't seem safe to try without a helmet and shoulder pads so he forges on with what he does best - distracting Derek with babble. "Derek, come on, look at me. You don't want a freaking law suit on your hands for my sake; you need to ignore him. He's not worth getting your shirt dirty, you know that."

"Behave yourself," Cora orders Jackson, and Stiles mentally rails at her to just scoot Jackson out of the cross hairs.

"Maybe you should take some photos for my lawyer first," Jackson replies mulishly, because he has a goddamn death-wish.

"And maybe you'll get some counter charges," Cora replies, cold. "We had a deal here, Jackson."

"Cora, you can't just keep giving him another chance--" Derek bites out, fairly vibrating with rage beneath Stiles' hands. 

Stiles has never felt more useless as he tries to push Derek back from the confrontation.

"Der, shut it. Violence is never the answer," Cora tells him. "Jackson, stop being a douche. No lawsuits, understand?"

"Fine," Jackson bites out. "But this doesn't change the facts - Stilinski's still getting a free ride on the show because he's a diseased druggie fuck-up and daddy's famous."

Stiles tries not to flinch, tightening his hold on Derek when he starts forward. It mostly just gets Stiles pushed across the floor. They both come to an abrupt halt at a sharp smacking sound though, and Stiles turns in bemusement as Derek scoffs, "Sure, Cora, violence is never the answer."

Cora's slapped Jackson across the face, her expression livid. Hell hath no fury like a Hale apparently. "Apologise," she hisses.

Jackson is unattractively agape, a hand print blooming on his cheek as he continues to cradle his jaw. "You did not--"

"You are so far over the line here. Diseased? What the hell, Jackson? Stiles works every bit as hard as you do - harder in fact - to be here," says Cora, finger up in his face. "And you wouldn't be where you are as a racer without your daddy's money so you get off your high horse and apologise."

"Sorry," Jackson grits out.

"To Stiles," Cora spits.

There's a long moment of silent stare off then Jackson shifts his gaze; it settles to the left of Stiles' ear but it's pretty close. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted," Stiles says, though it still stings. He feels like he's back in high school or something. And he's distantly reflecting that if Lydia and Cora ever meet, the world will not survive.

"Good." Cora releases a breath. "We're going to find some ice now. Stiles, get Derek to the main studio before you miss your rehearsal slot."

And then Cora's leading Jackson away before Stiles has chance to reply.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks him, like Stiles was the one who just punched a guy in the jaw in a ball of rage.

"...I think so," says Stiles, looking at him. "What just happened? Why should she have had him fired?"

"Because he tried it on with her, aggressively," Derek replies, rage at least veiled a little now. "She kneed him in the balls instead of reporting it, and he apologised to her. She thinks he was genuine, but also that she can handle him anyway."

"Ah," Stiles wrinkles his nose in distaste. He knew Jackson was an ass. "Well, okay, she did look like she handled him pretty well and I guess it's her decision. What just happened with you?"

Derek makes a face. "She's my little sister and you deserve more respect."

"My knight in shining armour," Stiles means it mockingly but there's a hint of sincerity to it. He's not envisaged anyone outside his dad and Scott standing up for him like that. He grabs Derek's arm. "Do you need ice on your hand?"

"I don't think so," says Derek, both of them looking at his fingers - the skin hasn't split at all. "I'm sorry. I just - I get protective of my family."

"Dude," says Stiles, squeezing Derek's arm. "It's not me you need to apologise to. But for what it's worth, please don't go earning law suits on my account."

"I'll try," Derek replies dryly. "You ready for our rehearsal?"

"I'm always ready to dance with you," Stiles scoffs. "It's the cameras and audience I don't like."

"Good job you didn't do something dumb like sign up for a reality dance show then," Derek says, and the anger has vanished entirely leaving a twinkle of amusement.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Just remember if I fall on my face and embarrass us both, you agreed to all of this."

"And I'm glad I did," says Derek, and he's taken Stiles' hand again, squeezing it.

God, Stiles is pretty sure he's in love. There's no hope. All he can do now is dance.

* * *

No matter Derek's reassurances, or the cheers in support of their little training video, or the fact Stiles' dad had turned out to sit in the front row, or even Scott's good luck wishes as they left backstage, no matter all of that, Stiles is still terrified as he and Derek walk out to do the real thing. There are so many people in the studio, and even more watching it live on TV that he can't see.

"Just focus on me," Derek tells him quietly before leaving Stiles at Stiles' starting point and walking on to stop at his own.

Stiles wants to make grabby hands at him to come back but Derek isn't looking at Stiles, his back ramrod straight. It takes Stiles a minute to remember the whole being in character thing, barely getting into his own position as the music begins.

Gods, Stiles is sick of Wrecking Ball.

Yet as Stiles starts walking, he realises he can do it. He can manage the shoes that had chafed horribly the first week, and the moves he's tripped through countless times. He can own this dance.

Stiles reaches Derek's back after the first line, touching his shoulder and finding himself enveloped in Derek's hold a moment later. He has to resist the urge to smile, staying in character instead. They can smash this.

Their feet carry them first through the basic steps, Stiles trying to hold his posture as he also imagines how he'd feel if he lost Derek for being too pushy. It's easier to imagine than Derek being completely inaccessible.

They hit the first chorus and it's time for one of Stiles' most failed moves, as he moves his hands around the back of Derek's neck and is dragged across the floor. He's only ever gotten to his feet neatly twice, but luck is on his side this time and he does it. He fist pumps in his head.

The dance gets a little more violent after that as the lines get harsher, louder, sharp turns and spins that Stiles somehow manages; he's amazed with himself. They aren't allowed to do lifts, but it feels like Derek's added everything else.

And then it all slows after the second chorus. They're sinking to the floor in the embrace Derek wanted, Stiles cupping his face desperately as Derek reaches to grasp his wrists. And Derek is pushing Stiles away, turning from him, only to have Stiles surge forward to hug him from behind. They end in a tight clutch as the music fades, Stiles' face pressed between Derek's shoulder blades.

It's then that Stiles remembers to feel nervous, panting for breath as the shakes return. There's a dull roar in his ears. It's only when Derek's helping him to his feet that he realises it's the crowd cheering.

Derek beams at him, that amazing megawatt smile, squeezing his hands. "You did great."

Stiles knows it isn't strictly true - his posture is still crappy and it's first week of the live shows - but compared to falling over in their mini-video, he knows he's come on a lot. He hugs Derek. "Thanks to you."

"Team effort," Derek replies, hugging him back. "Come on, Peter's impatient already."

They walk over, hands clasped and Stiles is glad Derek's steering him because he has no idea what he's doing or where he's going.

"Well you've certainly made quite the impression on our audience," says Peter, wrapping his arm around Stiles and running his hand over Stiles' bicep. "Such an emotive dance."

"Derek's been an amazing tutor," Stiles agrees, enormously creeped out.

"But he's possibly wearing too much," Peter muses, still stroking. "Can you work on that, Stiles?"

Stiles flushes, taking a step away as Derek speaks up, "Maybe next week. Have to see if people vote us through."

Peter smirks. "I see. Are you ready to hear what our judges have to say?"

Stiles thinks probably not, shifting closer to Derek as Derek wraps his arm around Stiles' shoulders instead. It's much more comforting than Peter.

"Let's start with Bobby," says Peter.

"Well boys," says Bobby Finstock, waggling his brows at them. "I had my hopes for you two but that exceeded all expectations. Stiles, who knew you had it in you? The passion, the character - I think we can all believe the story of how much you wanted Derek." Bobby, being an animated kind of judge, is prone to illustrating his points, surging up and throwing his arms around himself. "That embrace at the end - it was how tight I clutched my nurse after they reassured me I only lost one testicle to hypothermia."

Stiles blinks and he can feel Derek's shakes as he tries not to laugh.

"Well, thank you, Bobby," says Peter, more than a bit disgusted. "Deucalion?"

"Your posture needs more lift - strength in the core, shoulders back - this lapses on your turns, your elbow needs work - your arms are like noodles half the time, you need to remember not to keep lowering your chin when you look at Derek, your hand rather resembled a dead fish - it should be held stiff and straight, timing was out in several places - and it was like a corpse being dragged in the lunge," Duecalion rattles off, bored and so very British. "That said, there was no gapping, good footwork, and it was highly emotionally charged. A good first dance."

Stiles winces. Yep, he knew all of that.

"Head Judge Alan?" Peter invites.

"I thought it was a very good first tango," says Alan Deaton. "Everything we'd expect - you stayed in close with your partner, you had the fierceness we love, and there was some great storytelling. Duecalion is right that you can strengthen areas, but after only three weeks this was an excellent first dance and a great tango. I think you'll be one to watch."

Stiles nods, glancing up at Derek to share a grin.

"And Julia?" Peter asks, smiling charmingly at the gorgeous brunette sat between Deucalion and Alan.

Julia Baccarri smiles. "I'd really been looking forward to this dance to see how Derek choreographed two male dancers and I wasn't disappointed - excellent work. Stiles, I think you did really well with the characterisation - we could tell you really engaged with the dance and you two have great chemistry. You also had really good footwork for week one - so maybe it was concentration on that which meant your top line suffered a bit. Good work and I agree with Alan - one to watch."

"Thank you, judges," says Peter, turning back to Stiles and Derek. "You both look pretty pleased with that?"

"Dude," Stiles exclaims. "Didn't you see me fall on my ass in that clip? I stayed upright the whole dance today - I totally count that as a win."

Peter smiles indulgently. "I see. Well thank you to Stiles and Derek. Please go on and join Jennifer as we wait for your scores!"

Derek chuckles, taking Stiles' hand and leading him up a set of steps that connect the main dance floor and a little seating area where Jennifer waits with other guests. Jennifer's a redhead that Stiles has taken an instant dislike to. It might be because she reminds Stiles of Nurse Ratched levels of creepy and intimidating. Or he thinks it would, except he hasn't seen that film (or read the book, because yes, Lydia, he knows it was a freaking book first).

"Well done, boys," Jennifer coos. "You must be pleased with that - I know the crowd up here loved it."

"Very pleased," Stiles agrees, eyes straying to the monitors where his results will go up.

"Oh, results are in, here we go," Jennifer looks up, too.

A five, two sixes and a seven later, Stiles is beaming. It's not the highest score of the night so far, but it's not the lowest either. No one's broken thirty-two and he has a healthy twenty-four. He's stoked.

Derek hugs Stiles tight. "Well done."

"There you go, folks," Jennifer's telling the camera. "Stiles and Derek have done all they can tonight and the judges scores are in - now it's down to you to vote for them if you want them through to next week."

Stiles crosses his fingers and does his best Scott-style puppy dog eyes. "Please do. I'm loving dancing with Derek so much, I really don't want this to end."

And with that, it's out of their hands.

* * *

The shock of the night has to be Satomi, who's dancing with Isaac Lahey. She and Isaac do a Jive that leaves Stiles feeling tired just watching the speed - the old lady can really move, and she earns every seven.

Almost bottom of the scoreboard are Kali and Boyd, and Ennis and Erica. Kali just can't handle dance shoes to save her life so even her Waltz is awkward, and Ennis is just too big to be competent at a Jive. Since Kali and Ennis are actually married to each other, it makes for a interesting edge to the competition.

Kira and Scott do predictably well with a respectable thirty. Sadly so do Cora and Jackson, so they're joint top. Jackson's insufferable about it.

The relief had come when they filmed the results show once the public vote closed. It had been weird pretending it was the next day, but Stiles'd been amazed not to be in the dance off. It'd been Kali against some dude named Greenberg that Stiles didn't remember and even Bobby Finstock couldn't find anything good to say about him. It surprised no one that he was gone.

So Stiles and Derek had made it through their first dance, and when Stiles was invited to go out and celebrate with the other contestants, he was happy to abandon his poor dad with Mrs McCall.

"You guys did so well!" Kira is gushing hours later. She seems a bit tipsy despite the orange juice she's settled next to Stiles' own. "It's all so romantic."

Stiles flushes, glancing over to where Derek's chatting to Satomi. "It's not like that..."

"Sure it's not," Kira giggles, flopping against Scott. "Like not for Scott and me either."

Stiles raises his eyebrows at Scott, who's flushing. He's at least had a beer, but he's keeping it pretty tame to match Stiles and, in theory, Kira.

"Is it maybe time to take you home?" Scott asks her, amused.

"Naughty," Kira giggles, slapping at his chest.

"I think that's a yes," Stiles observes, eyeing his own juice sceptically. "Are you sure she's been on soft drinks?"

"I thought so," Scott replies, expression a bit concerned.

"Of course, I have!" Kira claims. "I have a whole shooooooot to do tomorrow!"

"Definitely time to go," says Scott, pulling Kira's juice back out of her hand and urging her out of her seat. "You okay getting home, man?"

"I'll take him," Derek cuts in as he arrives at the table, smiling at Stiles.

And yep, maybe Stiles smiles like a goof back. "Thanks."

"Cool," Scott grins, clapping Derek on the shoulder. "Thanks, Derek. Now come on you." He has to wrap an arm securely around Kira's waist to guide her away.

Derek takes the vacated seat. "She okay?"

"I think so?" Stiles ventures. "She seems pretty drunk but she's literally been on the exact same as me all night - juice."

Derek frowns a little. "Could be a weird endorphin high. At least Scott'll get her home okay."

"She's definitely in safe hands," Stiles agrees, trying not to let it cross his mind Kira might be on something. It's Kira. It's like rainbows and unicorns territory.

Stiles and Derek are quiet for a moment, just the background buzz from the bar filling the air. A little way off, Malia, Cora and Erica are talking to Adrian, Peter and Jackson. Peter seems to have charmed the barman and the drinks have been flowing all night. Stiles suspects that's the main reason Malia puts up with her father being there. He still doesn't get how any girl as nice as Malia could have Peter for a parent.

"Hey, is your mum here?" Stiles asks as the thought strikes him, looking at Derek.

Derek blinks. "Why would she be?"

"...isn't she pretty involved with running the show?" Stiles gives him the dumbass look. He can't resist.

Derek rolls his eyes. "Not as much as people make it sound. It's Jeff who produces it. She just... backs it. She can't do too much with Malia, Cora and I on it. Conflict of interest."

"Ah, cool." Stiles nods, then lapses into a smirk. "What would she say about you punching Jackson today?"

Derek flushes faintly. "I think she'd support me. He was out of line."

Stiles isn't entirely convinced, but just thinking about it reminds him just how long the day's been. "So, um, how long did you want to stay here?"

"I'm happy to go when you are," Derek tells him, then quirks a smile. "Now?"

"Please," Stiles enthuses, so tired he even allows Derek to pull him up out of his seat again. It takes some fumbling to get himself into his coat. "I may sleep all day tomorrow."

"You did good, you're allowed," Derek agrees. He's holding Stiles' hand again as they wave goodbye to the others and he leads him off to the exit. Stiles feels extra tingly.

"You're walking distance from here?" Derek asks him as they descend the steps to the sidewalk.

Stiles has to think for a minute because he gets the car most places due to the paparazzi risk, but Beacon City isn't exactly a huge city and the Mayoral townhouse isn't far. Pap risk has to pretty low after midnight - Stiles hasn't gone out after midnight in over a year - so he nods slowly. "Guess so, if you think that's safe?"

"Knight in shining armour, remember?" Derek teases as they walk.

"Oh, of course," Stiles agrees, lifting Derek's hand up to inspect. "How are your knuckles doing?"

"I think I'll pull through," Derek replies, watching Stiles. There's that gentle, fond expression Stiles can't resist.

Impulsively, Stiles brushes a kiss across the knuckles. "My poor hero."

"Stiles," Derek says, a rougher quality to his voice. He doesn't pull away.

"What?" Stiles asks, letting their hands fall between them, still clasped.

Derek shakes his head though, and just walks.

It feels awkward to Stiles after that, the silence loud between them as he leads them along the couple of blocks to his house. It's only as he's ascending the steps to stand outside his front door that he stops and turns back. "Derek, I'm sorry."

Derek's eyebrows draw together in confusion. "You're sorry?"

"If that was too much," says Stiles, and he's uncomfortable and fidgeting and hates this. Teenage girl is not a feeling he digs. "I don't want it to make things awkward."

Derek smiles, tension going out of him as he closes the distance between them to grab Stiles' twitchy hands. "Hey, it's never going to be awkward between us, okay? I was just trying to avoid starting something when we're pretty stuck together until the end of the competition. I don't ever want to be a cause of stress for you."

And Stiles hears him, because that's the crux - the same thing that stopped him in the bathroom earlier. Is it remotely smart to get tangled up with your partner for the first time in the middle of a reality TV dance competition? Except it's Derek and Stiles has never met anyone he feels so comfortable around except his family - because Scott's basically his brother. Plus...

"I get that, but I think I might die of frustration if we keep on like this until the final. I might have to get us booted out early on purpose," Stiles tells him frankly, earning a laugh. "Maybe we could just take it slowly, instead?"

Derek's breaks out in a massive smile, stifled laughter crinkling the skin around his eyes as he backs Stiles up so they're both on the same step, the same level. "I think maybe we could do that."

Stiles' gaze drops to Derek's mouth, tongue flicking across his own lower lip. "So...?"

"So," says Derek.

And then Derek's cupping Stiles' face and he's leaning in and they're finally, _finally_ kissing.

Stiles lets his hands fall to Derek's waist, needing to hold on because it's too perfect. It's sweet and tender, just like Derek always is, just their lips moving together, full of affection and warmth that makes Stiles tingle down to his toes.

And then Derek's pulling away before it can evolve into anything more, a secret little smile on his mouth. His mouth that Stiles has just been kissing because they share this secret. "Goodnight, Stiles."

Stiles is pretty sure he's smiling like a moron back. "Goodnight, Derek."

It's only as Derek's descending the steps away from him that Stiles pauses to think he heard anything, scanning the street with that sudden fear that even so late at night someone could be waiting. But then he sees a cat dash out from under a car across the way and relaxes.

"You okay?" Derek calls back.

"Fine," Stiles replies. "Thought I heard something - just the cat. Text me when you get home?"

"Will do," Derek agrees. "Get inside."

"Yes, sir," Stiles laughs and finally lets himself in.

He pretty much skips up the stairs to his bedroom, grabbing his pillow to squeal into it before seizing his phone to text Scott.

Ha, maybe teenage girl is his style after all.


	7. Chapter 7

When Stiles wakes the next morning, the euphoria of the previous day hits him anew. He got through the first week of the competition, _and_ he and Derek kissed, not to mention it had been his first proper night out sober since he'd started on _Let's Dance_. He actually feels content, even proud of himself, for the first time in too long. And he knows just how he wants to celebrate on a lazy Sunday morning.

Stiles spares a brief glance at his phone, noting there are no new messages since Derek's sweet dreams wishes the previous night. Even that has him smiling, and he lets the phone go to reach for his lube. He's already sliding his other hand south over his belly - it's growing firmer after all the dancing the past few weeks. He's quite ready to indulge himself in a little, leisurely morning fun.

Stiles drops the lube beside him and determines to take his time as his fingers curl through his pubic hair. He builds up a fantasy, starting from the memories of last night and Derek's touch and kiss. He imagines what could have happened if Stiles were less broken and Derek less careful. It's what Stiles hopes will happen in future.

In his fantasy, Derek doesn't stop at a chaste kiss and Stiles is bold enough to pull him closer. Stiles finds himself backed against the wall beside his door, their kiss deepening, tongues tangled. He squirms in his bed, able to imagine the press of Derek's body against his own all too well after all of their dancing. He thinks of how Derek's hand might have dropped to his neck, trailing the path with his own hand, and then Derek's mouth might follow with the tickle of his beard.

Stiles would've invited Derek inside then, and they'd have stumbled upstairs with giggled whispers, unable to keep from touching each other for even that short length of time. Stiles'd barely remember to lock his door and they'd be pulling off clothes as they crossed to the bed, this bed, where he is now.

Stiles teases himself, rubbing over his belly again then tugging gently at the hairs trailing from below his navel. He remembers Derek's comment about versatility, but Stiles is pretty hard for the idea of Derek wanting to suck him off for their first time. He thinks Derek's the type who'd be all up on kisses everywhere, all teasing and affectionate and slowly getting to where Stiles wants him. Stiles would be left biting his lip, trying to be patient. But then finally - and Stiles drips some lube on his hand as he imagines it, closing it around his morning wood - Derek's mouth would end up where he wanted it.

Stiles lets out a soft groan, intonation switching from pleasured to frustrated as his phone starts ringing beside him. He cuts a little glare at it, and then he sees Derek's name lighting the screen. It gives him pause. He licks his lips, swallowing, glancing down at where he has his hand clasped around his erection. Then he throws caution to the wind and grabs the phone with his other hand to answer it. "Hey."

"Hey," says Derek. "Wasn't sure you'd be up yet."

"You wanted to talk to my voicemail?" Stiles teases, trying to sound normal.

"I hoped you'd be awake," Derek replies, amused. "You okay?"

Stiles flushes, but he doesn't let go of his cock. "Fine. Only just woke up. Was thinking of you, actually."

"Yeah?" Derek makes it an invitation, smile in his tone.

"About last night," Stiles agrees, feeling pretty daring as he lets arousal colour his voice. He wonders if Derek will put the pieces together; Stiles wants him to. "About us."

Stiles hears Derek swallow before he asks, "You said you just woke up?"

"Yeah," Stiles replies. His cock twitches as he imagines Derek swallowing around it. "Still in bed."

He hears Derek moving, a sound that might be a door closing. "And thinking about us?" 

Stiles feels his face warm, but he plunges on. Quite clearly he states: "Yes, I just woke up and I was thinking about us."

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?" Derek asks, and there's a slight huskiness in his voice now.

"Might be," Stiles concedes, giving into the urge to stroke himself. "Good, hardworking boys deserve their rewards."

"And you thought now was a good time to answer the phone to me?" Derek asks him. "What happened to taking things slow?"

"I am taking it slow," Stiles replies impishly, bolder the longer Derek stays on the line.

"This isn't what I'd call slow," Derek replies, amused.

"I don't hear you hanging up," Stiles points out, gaining confidence. He slides his hand down his slick length, sighing softly as pleasure sparks through him.

"You're making it kind of hard to," says Derek.

"I'm trying," Stiles chuckles, rubbing his thumb just below the head of his cock.

"You're--I didn't mean," Derek cuts himself off, chuckling. "I meant it seemed rude, Stiles."

"I think not joining in is rude," Stiles tells him, stilling his hand again. "D'you want me to stop?"

Derek's silent for a telling moment. "No," he admits. "I want to be there."

"You like to watch?" Stiles asks, imagining Derek watching him, those gorgeous eyes drinking in his every move. He licks his lips at the idea.

"I like watching you," Derek corrects. "But I doubt I'd be able to keep my hands off you. I have enough trouble with that when you're dressed."

Stiles laughs. "I'm supposed to believe you've even been trying?"

"Touche," Derek acknowledges, and there's some background noise again. "What were you thinking about us before I called?"

"Last night," Stiles replies, grinning because he's pretty sure that might have been a bed creaking. "One sec." He switches Derek onto speaker phone, checking the volume isn't too high as he puts it beside him. "Still hear me okay?"

"Mm," Derek agrees. "You were doing all this over one kiss?"

"I was thinking what if we'd deepened the kiss," Stiles replies. "If I'd invited you in."

"I did think about that after I left," Derek admits. "Tell me?"

Stiles smiles. "I hadn't gotten far when you called, but I was thinking about you sucking me off. You were a bit of a tease about it."

Derek chuckles. "You mean you just have no patience."

"I knew it!" Stiles' grin is huge. "So, err, did you want to, you know, change it up, now you're on the line?"

Derek laughs again. "Mm, no. I think I could get off on the idea of sucking you."

"Fuck, Derek." Stiles feels those words right down to his core.

"I like that plan, too," Derek teases. "But let's stick to your fantasy. Were you standing?"

"No, was on the bed," Stiles replies, and he finally starts to move his hand again. He's aching. "You were taking your time, kissing your way down. I thought it seemed like you."

"I'd have to hold your hips down, wouldn't I?" Derek asks, and he sounds huskier now. Stiles wishes he could see him. "You'd never keep still for me on your own, let me breathe in the smell of your sex like I want to."

"You're driving me crazy," Stiles tells him.

"You started it," Derek replies. "You knew I'd tease. That I wouldn't even go for your cock right off. I'd lick and nip at your balls first. But you know what I'd really love?"

"What?" Stiles asks, voice strained as he strokes himself. Derek's doing a real number on him here.

"I'd love to eat you out," Derek confesses. "To really go to town on you until you're open and shaking and begging for more."

Stiles is more than happy to go with the switch, heart racing in his chest as he pictures it. He draws his legs up, reaching down past his heavy balls to touch his hole as he continues to stroke himself. "I'd be on my hands and knees for you. I'd try and keep quiet to start, even as you were driving me crazy, then maybe I'd try threats and you'd just laugh. I'd end up begging and pleading for more. I'd be happy if you just jacked me off, but I'd really want your cock. God, Der, would you do it? Would you bury your cock in me after you ate me out?"

Derek's breathing is turning laboured. "You have no idea how much I want that."

Stiles laughs softly, pushing just his fingertip inside himself, taking advantage of some of the lube that's dripped down over his balls. "I think I do. I think I wish you were here to fuck me right now."

"Are you touching yourself there?" Derek asks him. Stiles loves how rough his voice is now.

"I am," Stiles admits, pushing his finger deeper with a groan. His other hand moves slickly over his length, fuelling the building pleasure inside him. "I've pushed my finger inside but it's really tight. I haven't done this in a while."

"You're killing me here," Derek tells him.

"I'd still want you to fuck me hard." Stiles feels buoyed by the effect he's having on Derek. "None of that lovey-dovey crap." He might be lying a bit.

Derek laughs softly. "Of course you'd be topping from the bottom. You like it hard and deep, or faster?"

"Hard and deep to to start," Stiles replies, pushing his finger in to the second knuckle. "But I'm getting close now, so faster."

"Going to come for me, Stiles?" Derek asks him, voice lowered to notes that go straight to Stiles' cock.

"God, yes, I am," Stiles replies, wondering if Derek can here the slick sounds as his hand works his length. He can feel his balls growing tight with impending release, and starts moving the finger inside himself, too. "Christ, Derek."

"Come on, Stiles," Derek breathes into the phone. "Come for me so I can come in you."

And that does it, Stiles is coming hard in long spurts over his own heaving chest, white exploding behind his eyelids. He thinks he hears Derek, too, but it's difficult to concentrate on anything over the roaring in his own ears right then. He can't remember the last time he came so hard.

Stiles wants to say something, but it's taking all his energy just to try and regulate his breathing.

"I wish I could see you right now," Derek tells him after a few moments, sounding just as breathless.

"I wish you were here," Stiles replies, reaching for his tissues. "Thanks for that."

Derek chuckles. "I think it's safe to say we both enjoyed it."

"Oh yes," Stiles agrees, stretching. He feels wonderfully relaxed all the way to his toes. "Say, what did you even call for anyway?"

"Oh, shit," Derek's tone changes, embarrassed. "I, um. Damn it, she's never going to let me live this down."

Stiles blinks, glancing at his phone. "What?"

"I was calling because Laura wanted me to - I was just with her. You distracted me and now she's totally going to know what I've been doing."

Stiles can't help it. He laughs. "Sorry but so not sorry. Why'd she want you to call?"

"She wants to meet you again," Derek tells him, clearly embarrassed.

"I'd like that," says Stiles, turning it over in his mind. He's been curious about her but it still seems like too sensitive a topic to ask Derek. "Just text me when, okay?"

"Will do," Derek agrees. "Take care of yourself."

"Yes, sir," Stiles laughs again. "Good luck."

The call ends and Stiles just lazes in silence for long moments. He really thinks he could be in love.

There's a knock at his door a few moments later, making him jump.

"If you're done in there, I'm making breakfast," says his dad. "I suggest you grab a quick shower."

Stiles' face flames. Crap. Derek dealing with overly informed relatives isn't so funny when Stiles shares his fate.

"Err, sure!" he calls back, shooting Derek a newly commiserative text.

The reply comes a moment later: Haha. I feel better now.

"Helpful," Stiles tells his phone, pouty.

It bleeps again: Wait. Does your dad still own a gun?

Stiles decides to let him stew about that as payback for laughing.

* * *

Stiles takes his time over his shower, exchanging a couple of texts with Scott before and after to hear his report of Kira getting home okay (she's not responded herself). Scott thinks the whole thing with his dad is hilarious though, which is no comfort. So Stiles meekly heads down to their kitchen.

"Afternoon," says his dad, who is stood in front of a stove with bacon, eggs, mushrooms - the works. "Thought we should have a breakfast fit for a champion."

Stiles breathes an internal sigh of relief since they seem to be pretending nothing happened. That's very much his own preference. "You know I was basically middle of the board, right?"

"You weren't bottom," his dad points out. "With your coordination, that's pretty impressive."

"Thanks," says Stiles dryly, heading for the breakfast bar where his dad's got juice and places laid up.

"Pfft, you already know I'm proud of you, kid." His dad brings him a coffee, because his dad is amazing and loves him. "You looked great up there last night."

"Thanks." It's much more sincere this time. "I think we have a jive next week though. Might all fall apart then."

"I believe in you," his dad says.

"Enough about that anyway. How's the campaign going?" Stiles asks.

"It's going well," says his dad. "And a lot of that's down to you. People are really getting behind you, keeps them coming to ask about you and then they accidentally hear about me."

Stiles grins. "I'm a bit amazed. Expected more vilification after how it started. I mean, I know it's probably still happening, too, but not hearing anything more from Kate? I keep expecting some attack and it's all gone quiet - there was a cat that had my jumping out of my skin last night."

"Last night?" asks his dad.

"Yeah. Derek walked me home," Stiles tells him, sipping his coffee. "Kissed me on the doorstep. Thought I heard something after but it was just a cat."

"I did wonder why there were photos of you two kissing on the news," remarks his dad mildly.

"What?!" Stiles squawks.

"I'm joking," his dad laughs. "Sorry."

"That was mean," Stiles huffs. "I'm your son with the anxiety, remember."

"Son, if there's an anxious bone in your body after this morning I'll eat my chain of office," says his dad frankly, because he loves to mess with Stiles.

Stiles turns bright red. "Oh my god, I don't want to talk about that with you. Don't you know it's rude to listen at doors?"

"My house," replies his dad. "And I didn't need to listen at doors. You need to work on your volume if you have him over."

Stiles covers his ears with his hands. "Lalalalala."

Mayor Stilinski rolls his eyes and starts serving. He's grumbling under his breath as Stiles lowers his hands again. "Pretty sure I'm the one that ought to be objecting."

Stiles chooses to ignore that. "There's not really anything on the news is there?"

"No," his dad reassures him. "But I had to tease a bit - and look at how well you handled it. You seem a lot happier."

"I am," says Stiles, sitting back as his dad brings the laden plate over. "Thank you."

"Derek seems to have a lot to do with that," says his dad, cautious.

It's the cautious note that tells Stiles his dad doesn't mean the whole morning thing that just happened.

"He does," Stiles agrees carefully. "I, well, I did wonder yesterday about that."

"You did?" asks his dad, tucking into his own breakfast.

"They warned us in rehab about replacing addictions with relationships," Stiles explains, prodding at his food. "I guess I forgot since it wasn't really relevant, but yesterday I was freaking out before the show and Derek came in to find me, and then I just calmed right down."

Stiles stops then, frowning a bit. Eventually he looks up at his dad. "It was like when I used to take a hit of something to calm down."

"Stiles," says his dad. "Do you know what else that sounds like?"

Stiles stares at his plate, licking his lips. He knows what his dad means, he just has to be brave enough to say it. "Love?"

"I remember when I first started as a deputy in Beacon Hills," says his dad. "I was terrified the night before. Second guessing the whole decision and what if I bottled it and got stuck pushing papers for life. What would that mean for you and your mum? I needed to make a good impression, have a shot at Sheriff one day."

"Yeah? And now you're Mayor. How'd that happen?" Stiles asks, teasing.

"Your mother came in," says Mayor Stilinski, getting that fond, sad smile he always gets when he talks of her. "And she made it all okay, and I couldn't tell you how because it was just her being her."

Stiles smiles back at him, reaching to squeeze his hand. "You didn't tell me that before."

His dad shrugs. "I was saving it for when I needed to tell you this - I know you have every reason to be careful, kid, but if you have a chance at that kind of love, grab it with both hands. If you look like you're getting dependent, I can promise that Scott, Lydia or I will pull you up on it."

Stiles nods. "Okay, I hear you. No need to panic."

"No," his dad agrees. "Now eat before it goes cold."

"I am," Stiles laughs, tucking in. He still feels a bit nervy because as nice as his dad's story is, it also reminds him that his dad lost his mum and his dad's been alone ever since. The whole idea of a relationship is a big deal if he'll be exposing himself to that risk. That was why slow was a good plan, this morning aside.

As Stiles eats, his dad resumes talking about the election campaign and the news Mrs McCall shared with him last night - apparently they'd gone for a drink before parting ways. That makes Stiles smile because he and Scott had always harboured a bit of a hope on that account, but sometimes Stiles thought his dad would never be in a place to move on after his mother like that.

It's as Stiles is taking the dishes to the sink that his phone rings again. He ditches them in the basin, surprised to see Kira's name on his screen as he pulls out his phone. He accepts, lifting it to his ear. "Kira, hi, you okay?"

"Oh god, Stiles, I am so sorry - I only just heard what they were doing. I promise I didn't say anything. I had no idea," Kira gushes, frantic.

Her tone sets Stiles' heart racing and he has to consciously try and stay calm, glancing around toward his dad. "Hey, calm down. What's happened?"

"It was this morning - they couldn't wake me up so I couldn't go to work," says Kira, and sounds like she's in tears, which utterly baffles Stiles. It was only work, right? He waves off his dad's concerned expression and focuses on her words. "A-and it's in my contract, I can't miss work, so they got a doctor or the studio fines the agency, you know? And then the doctor said he thought it was drugs! You know I don't take drugs - I told them that. I said maybe I drank something, I mean there were lots of drinks, right? Then they called the police!"

"Kira, are you being charged with something?" Stiles asks, still none the wiser as to why Kira's phoned him. He doesn't have the first clue where to start with sifting all this information. "I can vouch for the fact you were on orange juice if you need it? You were on the same as me all night, and Scott and Derek bought them all so there's no way you drank any alcohol by accident."

In the distance he hears a knock at the door and his dad shouts that he'll get it.

"But the police think someone spiked it, Stiles, and they were asking me all these questions about who I was with," Kira says. "I'm so sorry, I never even thought but it's not me, it's my agency pushing it. They need a case reference because of my contract. And now I just heard--" She breaks off on a sob. "I tried to tell them!"

Stiles still doesn't really understand the contract and agency babble, but one penny's dropped and he feels sick. "You said you were with me all evening so they think I dosed you because of my history."

"I'm sorry!" Kira wails. "I know it wasn't and I promise I didn't take anything, I swear. I tried to tell them at the station but they said they'd already left and there'd been an anonymous tip!"

Stiles blinks, breathing getting uneven as panic seizes him. Every bit of pleasant relaxation he'd been enjoying from the morning call has vanished along with the air from his lungs.

Behind him, he hears shouting in the foyer and turns slowly, backing up against the cabinet. Of course it was all too good to be true.

Kira's still babbling frantically in his ear as Stiles drops the phone, sliding down the cabinet to the floor as he struggles for air. His vision is spotting as he sees a familiar uniform in the kitchen doorway.

His mind's racing, scanning over and over through the previous night because this is it, he's done for, because Stiles was with Kira all night. He was the only one who never left the table. He watched the drinks. Who else would they accuse? He can't-they won't believe--

Stiles doesn't remember what happens after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading - really hope you're enjoying it!
> 
> (Side note: I'm currently posting this from Friday night of Wolf's Bane 3 in Birmingham UK, so if you fancy saying hi just leave a comment or tweet me @hystoriosity :D I'll be the one in the bar with multiple laptops ;)


	8. Chapter 8

Blessedly, Stiles doesn't remember anything when he first wakes. Unfortunately it's scarcely a moment of befuddled confusion before it all comes rushing back and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"Hey-hey, calm down," says a familiar voice. "Just take deep breaths. There's nothing to worry about."

Stiles is inclined to disagree - he remembers a lot that entirely justifies hyperventilation and fainting.

"Son, Jordan's right, calm down," says his dad.

Stiles blinks rapidly and Jordan Parrish's face swims into focus. He's crouched beside onto which someone's thoughtfully moved Stiles onto the couch. Jordan's wearing his uniform, which explains the last hazy vision Stiles had, and beyond him, Mayor Stilinski is returning from the kitchen with a glass of water.

"I di-didn't--" Stiles starts.

Jordan holds up a hand, smile a blend of sad, sympathetic and reassuring. Hell, Jordan must remember those old times when Stiles was a smart mouth and not a blubbering mess. "Stiles, stop. I am categorically not here to arrest you. We're still waiting on lab results anyway, but you think your dad would have let me stay if I was? Drink some water."

"You got that right," agrees his dad, handing over the glass as Jordan helps Stiles to sit up and take a sip.

Stiles' mind races anyway, remembering the call with Kira, "My phone--"

"Here," says his dad, holding the phone up. "Scott already rang after his partner rang him in hysterics, so I told him to take a breath as well. Now drink more."

Stiles obeys, mainly because he can't think properly right now. He feels completely imbalanced as he lurches from the anxiety of Kira's call to the calm of his dad and Jordan. "Why are you here?"

"I just need to hear what you remember," says Jordan. "You're a potential witness here, just the same as any one else."

"And a potential suspect," Stiles disagrees. "Kira said there was a tip--"

"Maybe you could let me do the police work here?" Jordan asks, amused.

Mayor Stilinski lets out an abortive half-laugh, half-cough and Stiles has the grace to feel a bit sheepish as he glances at him. Stiles always did like to 'assist' his father.

"So," says Jordan. "Last night. You had the live section of the show, then the results a bit later. The studio confirmed filming finished by 9:30 so why don't you take it from there? Just tell me everything that happened."

Stiles nods and tries to clear his mind. Now he's returned to consciousness, his brain's trying to muddle through the problem again. He doesn't understand how it could have happened and he's sure he should know. The only answer seems to be that Kira must have taken something in the toilets, but that seems unlikely.

"Stiles, come on," Jordan encourages. "Stay with me here, okay?"

"Sorry." Stiles frowns. "Okay, um. The show finished and we had to change. Greenburg was gone pretty quickly so someone suggested heading out for drinks. I'd planned to come home with dad right off, or maybe go for dinner with the McCalls, but Derek asked if I wanted to go, too."

"This is Derek Hale?" Jordan asks.

"Yeah," Stiles agrees, unable to help a slight smile. "He's my partner, you know, on the show."

His dad snorts and Stiles sticks his tongue out at him. Jordan, of course, doesn't miss it. "Something going on between you and Derek, Stiles?"

Stiles shrugs, taking another sip of his water. He feels calmer now. He's just telling a story, and thinking of Derek helps. "Not yet officially, but we kissed last night? That wasn't until I got home though."

Thankfully his dad seems to think this is serious enough not to mock Stiles about his morning call.

"Okay, so Derek was the one who asked if you wanted to go out?" Jordan asked. "Do you remember whose idea the drinks were?"

Stiles shakes his head. "I think it's pretty much a regular deal though, like it happens every series. There were a few fans and photographers when we headed out."

"And what happened at the bar?" Jordan encourages, making notes.

"We found a table pretty quickly, Derek, me, Kira and Scott, and Derek offered to get our first drinks. Kira and I were both on soft drinks but Scott had a beer. I think Derek might have, too?"

"You think?" Jordan moves his pad a little with a wink when Stiles tries to read. Stiles doesn't point out that his dad's reading over Jordan's shoulder, too.

"I didn't hear him order," Stiles replies. "And he ended up chatting to other people whilst he was drinking it. If he had anything alcoholic though, I reckon it was only one like Scott because he seemed pretty sober when we walked home and I never smelt anything."

"You walked home?" His dad doesn't sound pleased.

"Derek walked me home," Stiles corrects. "The dude's built like a tank and he throws a mean punch." Stiles is smirking over the memory of Jackson until he realises mentioning Derek's aptitude for fighting in front of an officer of the law might have been a mistake.

"You still should have taken a taxi," his dad insists, frowning.

Stiles shrugs, cheeks heating. "Seemed, you know, nice at the time. He was being all romantic and shit offering to be my knight in shining armour if needed." He casts Jordan a cautious look, wondering if he may have gotten away with the original slip.

"And how do you know Derek throws a mean punch?" asks Jordan, because he's annoyingly good at his job.

Stiles casts around for an appropriate response and finds none he believes he could deliver convincingly. He just has to trust Jordan. "Okay, look, they already agreed to no charges or whatever so you don't need to worry about it, but Derek punched Jackson yesterday after he was a douche about me and Cora. It's got nothing to do with Kira though; she wasn't even there."

Jordan raises an eyebrow. "Jackson Whittemore, is this?"

"Yeah, the racer. But like I said, they already agreed between themselves." Stiles' palms feel sweaty with alarm at the very idea he's dropped Derek in it.

"Stiles, it's fine. You're not getting Derek in any trouble here. What was Jackson's problem?"

"Okay, um, Jackson was just taking a punt at me about my history, and apparently he'd come on to Cora pretty hardcore so Derek was all big brother rage," Stiles explains, trying to be nonchalant and avoiding his dad's eye. "It really isn't relevant."

"Was Jackson at the bar?"

"Yeah, he spent most of the night with Cora, Erica and Malia. He, Peter and Adrian Harris were buying a lot of the drinks, I think," Stiles recalls.

"Did he buy any for Kira?" asks Jordan.

Stiles blinks. "You really think--I mean he's a total douche, seriously, but he never came near the table all night."

"I'm just getting an idea who was there and what was going on," says Jordan.

"I think Scott and Derek got most of our drinks," Stiles replies. "Except maybe one when Kira went to the bathroom? But that was for me because she still had a full one."

Stiles stops then, wondering once more. Kira had been fine up until she went to the bathroom, and it was a little bit after that when she started acting weirdly.

"What is it, Stiles?"

Stiles frowns. "I just... She doesn't seem like the type at all, you know. But there's no way she took something herself is there? I just keep thinking how she'd gone to the bathroom and it was after that she changed. It just... it reminded me, you know, how Alli and I used to go take a hit on a night out."

He trails off a bit quietly, wanting to avoid both his dad and Jordan's eyes then. "I don't want to believe it, but I was keeping an eye on her drink then, and she was around the rest of the night so I can't think how else..."

"It's a possibility," Jordan says. "You're sure only Scott and Derek bought any drinks for her?"

"I think so, well, I mean, maybe someone else paid - I think Peter had a tab - but Scott was being a super attentive date to her," Stiles said. "And Scott would never do that. You do know that, right?"

"I agree it'd be very out of character," Jordan replies. "Did anyone come over to your table to chat?"

"Not really?" Stiles thinks. "I mean, well, except Erica at one point. I think that was the only reason I was included in the round, because she was over to talk to me."

"Erica Reyes?" Jordan checks. "What did she want?"

Stiles flushes a bit. "She was fishing about Derek and I, whether we were just playing for the camera. And she just wanted to say congrats. Her mum was an addict so she's all supportive."

"That's nice of her," says Jordan.

"Yeah," Stiles agrees. "Lot of scary strong women amongst the professional dancers. Reckon Lyds would love them, or maybe they'd all murder each other."

Jordan chuckles, glancing back to Mayor Stilinski. "Where is Lydia today anyway?"

"Day off," says his dad. "So probably off doing more than most of us manage in a week."

Jordan looks amused. "Okay, well I think we're done here for now. Thank you, Stiles."

Stiles blinks. "Serious?"

"You've given me plenty of ideas. I need to go chat to a few more people I think," says Jordan.

"I'll show you out," says his dad.

Stiles blinks. He doesn't see how he said anything helpful, except maybe that Kira probably took something, which is not the type of helpful he'd been going for at all. But it's too late now, so he just nods. "Um, okay. Let me know if you need anything else?"

"Will do," Jordan agrees. "Look after yourself."

And that, apparently, was that.

* * *

"Taylor Swift's Shake It Off."

Stiles gives Derek several moments in which to add something sensible like 'just kidding, actually we're...' except that doesn't come. It leaves Stiles' brows drawing together in consternation because it's only Monday. It's not even a day since the whole fainting thing, because Derek is a sadist and refuses to let Stiles feel sorry for himself whilst accusations roll around the twittersphere, and now this.

Stiles swallows. "So let me get this straight. Last week, you had me Tango to Miley Cyrus. This week we're doing a Jive to Taylor Swift."

"Correct," Derek agrees.

"Why do you have the musical taste of a twelve year old girl?" Stiles asks plaintively.

Derek rolls his eyes. "Stiles, the network have a designated playlist I can pick from. This is appropriately modern for your likely voting demographic, and it's more of a hit back at the haters."

"Please don't start singing," Stiles cuts in.

"I had no intention of doing so," Derek replies dryly. "Now are you going to dance with me, or are you going to sulk until Laura arrives?"

That was another thing happening today; Stiles was seeing Laura for lunch. He hadn't yet completely bottomed out whether Derek intended to be present or not because the subject of Laura remained sensitive. Stiles was definitely nervous.

"I might sulk," Stiles says, feeling a bit petulant.

Derek raises one eyebrow. "Is there nothing I can do to convince you not to?"

Stiles folds his arms over his chest because Derek is his Kryptonite and he's already itching to accept the hand Derek offers.

Stiles narrows his eyes at the hand in question.

"Or maybe I could try this?" Derek suggests, and does this hip roll that looks downright lewd. "We'll need to get up close for a couple of those."

Stiles' lips twitch. "Are you flirting with me, Mr. Hale?"

"Is it working, Mr. Stilinski?" Derek asks, and he shimmies.

Stiles tries to shake his head but doesn't quite manage to tear his gaze away. "Aren't those more Samba?"

Derek grins. "You've been doing your homework. Sounds like you might want to dance after all."

"I don't not want to dance," Stiles huffs, uncrossing his arms. "I just don't want to dance to Taylor Swift."

Derek takes Stiles' hands, squeezing them. "Just trust me on the dance, okay? I want to say a little fuck you to those ass holes that dared to accuse you just because you have an illness."

Stiles bites his lip, caught between flippant sarcasm and something so much bigger. "You really see that?"

Derek threads their fingers together, towing Stiles out onto the floor of the practice studio. "The asshattery has been a little hard to miss."

Stiles follows because, well, there's a strong possibility he'd follow Derek off a cliff if Derek was looking at him like that. "I meant that you really see it as an illness?"

Derek blinks. "Of course."

"And you're still interested in this?" Stiles asks, raising his brows.

Derek tugs Stiles closer, releasing Stiles' hands to grip Stiles hips and keep him close. "I'm interested in all of this."

Stiles ends up looping his arms around Derek's neck because it's only polite. They're so close they're sharing air and Stiles remembers all the filthy things they shared over the phone yesterday, before reality had crashed in. "I thought we were going slow," he murmurs, because he really can't think about dancing now.

"And I thought we were past that after the graphic phone sex yesterday," Derek replies, nudging his nose against Stiles'. His eyes look even more amazing this close, his voice nigh on a purr. "My cock in your mouth, in your ass."

Stiles closes his eyes as arousal surges through him so powerfully it leaves his knees weak. He's sure they're about to kiss again. And possibly end up screwing on the studio floor because, well, Derek.

"But of course I wouldn't want to rush you," Derek says, stepping back and forcing Stiles to break his hold as he spins him around. "Now remember, keep your chin up and shoulders back."

"Wha--?!" Stiles blinks at the empty expanse of studio in front of him. "Oh my god, you fucking cock tease."

"I resemble that comment," Derek replies, sliding his hands down Stiles' sides in a way that's entirely unhelpful when it comes to calming Stiles' libido back down. "I've always believed dancing is rather like sex. Let's test the theory."

Stiles makes a strangled sound.

"Now we're working to eight beats for the jive," Derek continues, like he didn't just say anything about his dick and Stiles' ass. "And there are some triple steps - meaning three steps in two beats."

"Oh god, I'm going to fall on my ass on live television." Stiles' arousal dies with the spectre of pending humiliation.

"That's not really the positivity I was looking for," Derek tells him frankly. "Now, like last time, I'll start on left foot so you'll be starting with your right."

It's not until much later that Stiles realises the ease with which Derek steered him away from his worries.

* * *

"And spin out," Derek says, as Stiles rolls away from him. And keeps turning until he hits the wall. Again.

"Ow," Stiles tells the wall.

They've been practising for hours, long enough that Stiles has been allowed to graduate from the really basic steps (and yes, he fell over repeatedly) to something a tiny bit more complicated. Both of them have stripped down in the process to vest tops and Derek even tipped water on himself at one point. Stiles wanted to lick him, but Derek has proven to be strict about professionalism at work after the morning's teasing.

The knock at the door comes as a relief.

"Please say that's Laura?" Stiles begs the wall. "She'll be my new favourite and I'll love her forever."

Derek laughs, and there's a feminine echo to it. Derek tells the new arrival, "I think he might be pleased to see you."

Stiles rolls along the wall so he can lean on it and face Laura. Derek is just kissing her cheek and she looks a bit better than she had, Stiles thinks. Hopefully that means she isn't as deathly ill as he feared. He tells her, "You're my new favourite."

"I heard," Laura says. She lights up the same as Derek when she smiles, and it's beautiful. "You still have time to talk, right? I brought lunch."

Stiles makes grabby hands at her. "Save me. He's a monster."

Laura chuckles, glancing at Derek. "What've you been doing to him?"

"Nothing," Derek lies.

"He teased me," Stiles accuses. "And then tried to work me to death."

"Teased you, huh?" Laura asks, glancing at Derek. "Not about a phone conversation, was it?"

Abruptly, Stiles remembers Derek saying Laura would know. He suspects he's turning the same shade of red as Derek.

"Ah, where's Braeden?" Derek asks.

"Cafeteria," Laura tells him, smirking. It looks good on her.

Derek kisses her cheek again. "Just call if you need us."

"W-wait--" Stiles starts, but Derek is gone.

"Don't worry," Laura says, smiling cautiously at him. "I'm teasing him, not you."

Stiles nods hesitantly, finally trusting his legs to carry him away from the wall. All his curiosity is flooding back and he's not sure where to start, what it's safe to ask. "I didn't know it'd be just us."

"Is that not okay?" Laura asks, and Stiles clocks that she hasn't set anything down or even come in any further yet. It amazes him again that Derek would leave when she seems so anxious.

"What? No! I mean it's fine," Stiles babbles. "It's just after he punched Jackson for Cora last week, I figured he'd be pulling epic protective brother-fu right now."

"He trusts you, and I asked him to leave us to it," Laura replies, fidgeting a bit. "Besides, the way Cora tells it, he punched Jackson for you."

Stiles flushes at that, moving to tug two chairs out for them and pondering putting his hoodie back on as he starts to cool down. "You want to sit?"

"Thank you," Laura says, settling and unzipping the bag she's brought.

Stiles sits beside her, trying not to feel awkward with the quiet. Then a thought occurs to him. "Wait, are you going to give me The Talk about Derek?"

Laura freezes in the act of pulling out plastic containers. "The Talk?"

"About treating him right?" Stiles ventures.

"...we're both still talking about my brother who could break you in half, right?" Laura asks.

"Not that then," Stiles says, taking a tub when Laura pushes it into his hands. "What, err, are we talking about?"

"Me," Laura says. "And you."

"...you know I like your brother, right?" Stiles asks carefully.

"My girlfriend will be very pleased to hear that," Laura replies, smirking faintly again. "Seriously, Stiles, you think I'd ask for a date after yesterday's phone call?"

"...no?" Stiles suggests.

"Okay, look," Laura frowns, taking a breath, chin up and shoulders back. "I--"

"Derek totally taught you that, right?" Stiles asks, grinning. "It was so schooled."

"Wha-" Laura blinks, then she laughs. "Yeah, I guess he did. He's been great through it all."

"Through it all?" Stiles asks, twigging the more serious note. He accepts a sandwich when offered, but it's more reflex than anything as he hangs on what she says next. He really doesn't know how to cope if she tells him she's dying; he doesn't remember how they coped with the news for his mum and Stiles is amazingly good at inappropriate. "You were ill?"

"Yeah. Still am, really," Laura says, watching as Stiles takes a bite of his sandwich for something to do. "I'm an addict, too?"

Stiles chokes a bit, trying to swallow it down. He's not really that shocked - it had crossed his mind - but he'd been so certain it couldn't be that because of the lack of news coverage that he'd really convinced himself otherwise.

"Shit," Laura flaps her hands at him, searching out a bottle of water. "Sorry, I should've timed that better. I thought you'd have guessed."

Stiles coughs. "No, it's just--press?"

"Press?" Laura asks, pushing the bottle into Stiles' hands.

Stiles takes a swig, as his head spins. It makes sense. It's why Laura looks tired and ill. It's why the competition means so much to Derek - doing it for his sister, ha. Hell, it's why Derek knows how to handle Stiles so well. But how did they manage the press?

"Oh!" Laura's eyes widen and she flushes. "We just--mum pulled some strings?" Laura looks smaller now. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Stiles hurries to say, setting the water down and dragging his chair closer. "You were just lucky and I assumed crap. _I'm_ sorry."

Laura chuckles softly, but she's fidgeting. "You don't need to be sorry either. You have plenty on your plate. It's a nice change for it to be a surprise, I guess."

"Well, um, thank you for telling me?" Stiles says, feeling rather sheepish. "How are you doing with it?"

"In recovery," Laura says, and Stiles spots that she's shredding the poor sandwich she's taken in hand. "Not long - from just before the competition started this time? I just, um, don't be mad at Derek for not saying, yeah?"

"Why would I?" Stiles is still boggling over how they concealed it long-term so easily. "He was protecting you."

Laura nods, eyes on the floor. "I don't-I don't tend to do well. I've been in and out a lot, for years. I just wanted to share it with you myself, because I know Derek never would for me, and to say thank you."

"Thank you?" Stiles echoes, bewildered.

"I don't think I ever really believed I could truly recover before," Laura admits, glancing up at him. "And then you came along."

Stiles swallows around the lump that rises in his throat. "I haven't--"

"But you have," Laura cuts in, taking his hand in her own. It's shaking and he squeezes it. "Derek suddenly got all hopeful a month or two back, but he didn't want to jinx it until he properly met you, and he came home that night so... he was excited about what you could do, told me all about you, and then I saw it was true. I mean, I've seen the photos of you at your worst and I'm sat there shaking and craving and hating myself, knowing you've been where I am, but you're dancing with my brother like you're as whole and healthy as he is."

Stiles bites his lower lip, eyes stinging. "You know I'm not really, right? I'm still broken inside. I can't promise anything."

"I know, and you don't need to," Laura tells him, and sniffs a bit. "I just wanted you to know it's making a difference, and I support you, okay? Not just because of Der, but because of you. You already proved how far recovery can go."

Stiles nods, unable to speak. He doesn't even realise he's crying until Laura's pulling him into a hug, whispering thank yous in his ear. And he clings to her as she trembles, telling her he'll keep trying, keep going.

Because he's doing it for her, too, now. For Laura. For Derek. For Allison. For his dad.

But most important of all, he's doing it for himself, because he can.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles wasn't sure where to start: there were pompoms involved in his costume fitting. "Derek!"

Derek leans around the railing between them obligingly. "Stiles?"

Stiles holds up the plastic wallets containing the offending items. "Are you serious?"

It was several days since Stiles had lunch with Laura, only a couple of days to the second live show, and there was this weird sense of calm before the storm. Stiles was vaguely aware that Jordan had been interviewing quite a few contestants, but Kira had been back and, after an awkward hug, everything seemed normal. There had been a couple of stolen kisses with Derek, which Stiles could dwell on all day, but now, now there were pompoms.

"I'm sensing reticence," Derek observes.

"What are you wearing?" Stiles asks, hands on his hips.

Derek rounds the railing. He's in a basketball kit - black with red edging. Hollywood Knights is emblazoned across his chest. "Hi."

Stiles may linger over Derek's arms for a moment, because he really likes Derek's arms. He clears his throat and turns away, looking at his outfit properly. It turns out to be a similar black tee and shorts. It's clearly a cheerleading outfit, but it's also decidedly male. "I think there's something you forgot to tell me."

"I didn't forget," Derek disagrees. "I was saving it."

"For now?" Stiles suggests, sighing and starting to change. He's aware that Derek remains behind him, watching.

"Last night," Derek replies, referring to their second sordid session of phone sex. "Except you fell asleep."

Stiles' cheeks splotch red and he can't decide whether it's arousal or humiliation. He'd been tired and feeling really good! He coughs. "Maybe just tell me now?"

"Of course," Derek replies, and he's still watching with those gorgeous eyes. Stiles can feel it right down to his toes.

"I'm listening," says Stiles, dragging up the shorts.

"So I thought we could have a bit of fun with ourselves to make it seem less waspish," Derek explains. "I'll do some silly athletics - a couple of flips and dunk a basket. You'll cheer me, be a tall, clumsy, adorable dork like you are."

Stiles facepalms. No longer will he simply be flailing like a school girl about Derek mentally, no, he gets to do it live on TV. Fantastic. "I can probably manage something."

"So then we need to set the song up - I'm going to borrow a few girls to be a bit appalled at you, laughing, whispering, giggles, so on," Derek continues, like he isn't describing what really happened to Stiles at school. "But then I tell them off and grab you to dance."

"Wow. It's like every predictable chick flick ever," says Stiles dryly, turning to face Derek at last. "Poor little me needing to be rescued by the sexy jock."

"You don't need to be rescued by anyone," Derek replies, smiling. "But I'd rather make it light but pointed than entirely confrontational."

Stiles' grin is helpless: Derek thinks he's strong. "Still rather cliche, sexy jock and dork turned cheerleader."

"Maybe. You calling me sexy, Mr Stilinski?" Derek asks, closing the space between them.

"I think a blind man could see that, Mr Hale," Stiles replies, looping his arms around Derek's neck when he comes close. "Even if you're a bit of a perv watching me change."

"Just imagining bending you over this table," Derek murmurs against his skin, kissing his jaw. "Someone was giving me ideas last night."

"Mm." Stiles feels all the blood rushing south. "You really shouldn't say those things unless you're going to put out."

"You make it hard to stay professional," Derek replies, and he's kissing Stiles before Stiles can make any cracks about hardness.

Stiles melts into the kiss, tongue tangling with Derek's greedily. He's never going to get enough of this, pressing against Derek's front and moaning softly into his mouth.

"Okay guys, Malia and Adrian are due in fifteen so now I just need to--Oh!"

They break apart guiltily to face the seamstress who needs to check the fit of their costumes. Stiles knows his own expression must mirror Derek's - a bit embarrassed but a lot smug. In fact, Stiles is pretty sure he's grinning like a lunatic.

"Sorry. Who did you want first?" Derek asks, beautifully composed.

"Um, if you're free since Mr Stilinski needs to find his shoes..."

Stiles gives him a shove. "Have fun."

Derek chuckles, catching him to press a fond kiss to the corner of his mouth before walking away.

Stiles ducks to hide his goofy grin, shaking his head and pulling on the dance-shoes-pretending-to-be-trainers. He decides to pop to the restroom whilst he waits and splash some cold water on his face; Derek really does seem to be keeping him in a constant state of arousal.

Stiles blames the fact he's all caught up in his happy place for the way he's not paying attention when he emerges. He nearly walks right into someone, and the next thing he's being shoved up against the wall with their hand on his neck. "Wha-?!"

Jackson comes into focus. "What the hell did you tell the police?"

"Nothing!" Stiles grabs at Jackson's hand, heart racing. "Get off me!"

"You fucking said something, you little shit," Jackson spits. "They wouldn't be questioning me otherwise."

"Questioning?" Stiles pauses, and then grins. Suddenly the hand at his throat seems more desperate than threatening. "Ha, of course, couldn't be your winning personality or anything."

Jackson draws back his fist giving Stiles cause to regret his words moments too late. "I'm not going to let some fucked-up junkie ruin me. Learn your goddamn place."

A surge of real fear flows through Stiles then, because they're alone in the corridor and he knows he's weaker than Jackson. Stiles is quite the scrapper, of course - might be able to get a few good blows in - but he's not in any position to be getting into brawls, not if he wants to protect his father's reputation. He swallows roughly, fighting panic. "You'll get kicked off the show."

Jackson narrows his eyes. "You think you're that important?"

Stiles doesn't, he really doesn't, but he has one card to play here that doesn't involve violence. He wishes he didn't feel so shaky, so desperately in need of something as he stutters out, "To the Hales? Yeah."

Jackson huffs, almost seeming to grind his teeth, but he obviously knows it's true. He releases Stiles. "This isn't over, asshole."

Somehow Stiles doesn't feel like he's won anything when Jackson releases him. Instead he feels like he's made an enemy. He stays against the wall as Jackson walks away, then slowly slides down to the floor, heart pounding and hands shaking. He hates feeling powerless; more, he hates that Jackson's seen it. It leaves him craving so hard he's shaking, craving coke and how wild and powerful it makes him feel. It hurts, the craving is so bad, and it makes it feel worse. He's meant to be stronger than this.

Stiles stays curled up, ignoring the faint sounds down the corridor until he hears his name called from the dressing room where Derek's being fitted. It's only then that he stumbles to his feet, still unsteady like a newborn foal, but hitting his stride by the time he re-enters. He pastes a smile on his face, but he doesn't think he fools Derek.

For the first time, maybe he hates that fact.

* * *

Stiles is right about not fooling Derek.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Derek asks as they walk back toward their practice studio. "Something happened, didn't it?"

Stiles shakes his head, still trying to hold himself together. He doesn't want to go to pieces. He doesn't want to rely on Derek to fix him again.

Derek frowns, lips pressing in a thin line, but he doesn't speak.

Stiles almost feels sorry, except he just can't do it. He can't be weak again right now. He can't be coddled. No, instead Stiles wants to go somewhere and shout and scream. He wants to drive fast and drink deep.

He wants to quit the show.

The idea startles him, and Stiles remembers his doubt in the beginning and how it lead him to Chris. Derek wouldn't understand that, the idea of it all being too much. Derek's too strong to be a quitter, except--

"Why did you quit?" Stiles asks, looking at Derek as the enter the studio.

Derek blinks, stopping to turn to face him. "What?"

"Why did you quit?" Stiles repeats, tone softer as he averts his gaze.

"Quit what?" Derek asks.

"Allison's class," Stiles says, swallowing the lump that rises at the memory of her smile as she danced. "You were a teacher's aide and quit, right? You said you were there years."

Derek raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"I'm just curious - humour me?" Stiles asks. He needs to know if Derek could understand.

Derek licks his lips. "It's not something I tend to discuss," he explains, swallowing. "You need to understand I was young."

Stiles blinks, abruptly realising it's actually something much more serious than he thought.

"No, it's okay," Derek says, holding his hand up. He's still watching Stiles with a cautious expression. "Let's sit down?"

Stiles rubs his palms on his pants and nods. He still feels agitated and, if anything, it's even worse now he's realised he's poking at a wound.

Derek takes a breath once he's seated, quiet for a moment as he considers what he wants to say. "There was a specific reason that Chris remembered me, I think."

Stiles blinks. "Allison's dad?"

Derek nods. "One of the weeks, I was covering and Kate brought Allison instead. She made a number of advances."

"What?" Stiles is lost. "She gave you money?"

"What?" Derek looks momentarily amused. "No, not that type of advance."

"Wait, what? She hit on you?" Stiles exclaims. "She's twice your age!"

"Yes, she did. And she's not quite twice," says Derek, sighing. "But old enough. I was only eighteen. I was very flattered."

Stiles' eyes widen. "You--?"

"We had a fling," Derek confirms, looking at the ceiling. "It was stupid of me. I nearly lost my family over it because my mum was so opposed and I wanted to go move in with Kate."

Stiles isn't even breathing as he listens, mouth agape. This is the woman who's scorned him all his life, who claims to be some manner of fundamental Christian, and she'd been seducing a boy half her age. "What happened?"

"Laura was already ill by then," says Derek. "One day I'd gone to Kate's apartment after a fight with mum. I was ranting about it being unfair when Kate looked at me and said 'You'd have thought she had enough to worry about with that junkie sister of yours.' I couldn't really believe it because I'd been confiding in her for months about how worried Laura's illness made me. I challenged her on it, that Laura was ill, and it was clear Kate didn't see it that way. She didn't see Laura as ill at all. So I left, breaking it off. She kept contacting me though, so I ended up quitting the job and changing my number."

Stiles meets Derek's eyes as Derek lowers his gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Derek replies, shrugging. "But that was why I quit. Because she was essentially stalking me."

Stiles nods, trying to work out how to process this news in the context of what he needed to hear. It's far from what he was after, so far. He feels worse now, because Derek's quitting was so valid and Stiles just wants to run away from the stress.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks softly, reaching for Stiles' hand.

That says it all, Stiles thinks. Derek should be the one getting comfort here, but he's still reaching for Stiles to care for him. So Stiles shakes his head sharply. "I'm fine, sorry. Sorry for prying. We should just dance, yeah?"

Derek frowns. "If you're sure?"

Stiles nods, shoving all that emotion down. He can't quit. He can't let Derek comfort him right now, but he can wait until tonight to fall apart. "I'm sure."

* * *

Stiles is exhausted by the end of the day. It's a combination of the drills Derek puts them through and the sense of wrongness - the tension existing between them because Stiles is pushing Derek away and Derek knows it. Stiles knows it would be easy to fix, too, but even the idea of raising the subject makes him feel sick to his stomach.

They gather their things quietly, Stiles zipping his red hoodie over his practice gear, and walk side by side to the entrance. It's so quiet around them that it's almost creepy, emptied out for the night. They don't usually stay so late, but Stiles had dire need of practice at the Jive. Now their footsteps almost echo.

It's only when they reach reception, the security guards standing nearer the doors than usual, that Stiles senses something might be off. Derek is slowing and Stiles spies Derek's phone in his hand. He's just palming his own as they pass through the first set of doors.

"Stiles, wait," Derek says. But it's too late. The second set of doors open to an absolute roar. Stiles is left eyes wide as he faces a throng of press.

"Mr. Stilinski! Is it true you're off the wagon?"

"Derek! How did it happen between you and Stiles?"

Stiles blinks, stumbling as flashes go off in his face.

"Are you in love with Derek, Stiles?"

"Did you two fight today, Mr Hale?"

"No comment, back off!" Derek grabs Stiles by the arm, pulling him back inside.

Security step forward before the flood of press manage to follow them, and Stiles lets Derek steer him through reception and out of view. He stares between his phone - the mass of message notifications - and Derek. "W-what?"

Derek turns his phone so Stiles can see the screen and Stiles sucks in a sharp breath. There's a picture of them kissing on Stiles' doorstep last week with a headline of _'Love Match on Dance Show; but is it over already?'_

"What does that mean?" Stiles asks, bewildered. "Where did they get that photo?"

"I don't know," Derek replies, scrolling the screen shot down. The next photo that flows into view is Stiles on the floor outside the bathroom, scarcely hours ago. The text suggests Stiles is back to using and Stiles can see Derek's hand tighten on the phone. "This is the same as you're wearing now?"

"I wasn't using," Stiles defends, feeling sick. He never imagined Derek would doubt him, but he can see it.

"I know you weren't," says Derek. Stiles knows it's a lie. Derek's talking but Stiles can't hear it. "If this was--"

"I don't want to talk about it!" Stiles shouts, backing away. "I didn't use and no one should be taking photos anyway, not here!"

"Stiles, calm down. I know that," Derek tells him, brow furrowing. "I'm just worried about you."

"Don't." Stiles shakes his head, backing away. "I can't just rely on you to make it better. You shouldn't even be in this. I saw the doubt."

"Stiles, I chose this. I don't doubt you," Derek says, but he doesn't advance. He holds his hands out like Stiles is some kind of scared animal. "I just want to help."

"I don't want your help," Stiles replies, heart thundering in his chest as the words burst forth. He has a moment of regret, and then he spins on his heel and runs back outside because he needs to get to the car and go home, trusting desperately that it'll be there.

"Stiles!"

Stiles doesn't look back, nauseous terror driving him forward. He tries to elbow through the press, doing his best not to hear the questions. His rational brain registers that he should have phoned his dad. He needed to get away from Derek before he fell to pieces. Stiles isn't sure that even Derek would be able to put him back together if he let go right now.

The words around him blur, the spit fire pop of cameras dazzling him as he looks for the waiting car. It takes a moment to realise the security guard it trying to wave him that way and then he's hurrying forward.

It's as he's easing into the backseat that one question emerges from the mob: "Stiles! Do you think Derek has a hero complex like Kate Argent says? What about his sister?"

It's like a physical blow and Stiles looks around sharply, eyes wild with fury that Kate is poking at him again already, after she's done. "I'd say she's just jealous."

The roar of questions resurges and Stiles realises his error too late as the guard slams the door shut and hits the roof of the car to signal his driver. Stiles is left alone and trembling as the rush of anger subsides just as quickly, leaving a guilty ache in its wake. It takes three tries to plug his seatbelt in, knowing what he's done: he just signposted exactly what Derek had said wasn't public knowledge.

Stiles hunches in on himself, eyeing the mini-fridge across from him and feeling the overwhelming temptation to have a drink. Just a little, that's all he needs. Something to take off the edge and numb the day. He shouldn't, he knows, but he can't do this. Just once, just today, he needs it. He can be good again after, he's sure. He's managed so long.

Sick with it all, Stiles lunges to open the fridge and finds only snacks and sodas inside. His dad has relapse proofed it and Stiles should've expected as much. He's already let Derek down. Now he can add his father to the list.

The phone in his hand ringing startles him, but then he sees Derek's name. Stiles declines the call, throwing the phone across the seat. He curls up in a foetal position, huffing in an effort to keep the sobs that threaten at bay. He rocks with the car, numb to it all.

The accusation about Kira was meant to be as bad as it got. They hadn't resolved that, but the finger had been redirected away from Stiles until now. Fuck, it was only a matter of time until the stories were linked again. Stiles wanted to scream, just to get the pressure out. He needed to breathe and his chest felt too tight.

"We're here," says the driver, surprising him as Stiles hadn't really registered the movement. "Wait a moment and I'll get you into the house. Your dad's in a meeting but I'm picking him up next."

Stiles nods numbly. He thinks he needs to be alone, even though the crowds outside scare him enough to want company. They're already surging at the car and trying to take photos through the tinted windows.

Stiles pulls his hoodie up as the driver gets out, preparing himself. He wishes he had his sunglasses but they'd always truly been for hangovers. Somehow he and his dad thought it a good decision not to hide his face anymore in case the press claimed relapse. Worst call ever.

There's a roar as the door opens and Stiles shrinks back. He's grateful when the driver grabs his arm to help leaver him out, holding him securely as he's guided to the door. Of course, with no one to let him in, he has to fumble with his keys, shaking so much that the driver takes them on the second attempt and does it for him, hauling him into the house and slamming the door.

"You'll be fine," says the driver, like he could have a clue. "I'll be right back with your dad."

And then he's pushing Stiles' keys into his hand and he's letting himself out, a brief roar before the sound deadens again.

Now Stiles is alone, all alone, and the press sound like they're baying for his blood outside.

"Stiles! Stiles! Are you using again?"

"Did Derek dump you because of your habit?"

Stiles sinks down on the bottom step of the stairs, hugging himself.

"Is this all because you dosed Yukimura?"

"Is it true you dealt to Laura Hale? Stiles?"

And Stiles just breaks, the choking sobs pressed into his knees. Derek will never forgive him for bringing Laura into this. He wishes he'd never even had a chance with Derek, because then this wouldn't hurt so much.

Stiles has never felt so utterly alone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick special thanks to Scribs for beta as always, and particularly for being consultant in all things addict related. With that goes a warning for this chapter - Stiles isn't using, but addict behaviours are explored.

The rest of the night vanishes in a blur for Stiles. He cries until he can cry no more, his eyes aching and his face red and puffy. He cries until the hurt is gone and he just feels void, aching for something to fill it. And that's when he moves into action.

In the space of half an hour he tears through the house, ripping open cupboards, searching and searching. Stiles knows his dad loves a glass of whiskey, he just has to find it. He can taste it just thinking about it, the harsh flavour of the alcohol and the burn when he swallows it down. Stiles needs that kick, that fire, right now. He leaves a trail of destruction in his wake until he finds the locked filing cabinet in his dad's study.

Stiles is doing his best to turn a knife into a crowbar when he hears the front door opening downstairs.

"Stiles?" calls Mayor Stilinski, tentative.

Stiles bites his lip, fisting his hands around the knife and readying himself to apply more pressure. His hands hurt, feel slick, but he just needs--

"Stiles!" Lydia's shout is higher pitched, panicked. It makes Stiles anxious and he fumbles, crying out when the knife slips and clatters to the floor.

"Stiles?" His father's voice is more strained.

"Stiles, where are you?!" Lydia calls.

Stiles is on his hands and knees fumbling for the knife. He can hear them coming, though his heart is pounding loudly in his ears. He's struggling to breathe. They're going to come and stop him and he just needs--he _needs_ \--

"Christ, kid."

"I'm fine. It's not what you think." Stiles fights it as strong arms close around him, the knife thrown easily across the room out of his reach.

"Oh my god," Lydia's heels clack across the wooden floor after his knife. "Was he--?"

Stiles yelps as his hands are grabbed roughly and wrists exposed. "Dad, no. I just slipped-"

"No, he hasn't," says his dad, voice against his ear. There's a pause. "He was just trying to get into the filing cabinet."

"I needed a number, that's all," Stiles tells him, pushing to get free. "The electrics went out for a bit and--"

"No, they didn't," says his father. "Stiles, there's nothing in there. Lydia, show him, then we need to call Melissa; he's cut his hands up pretty good here."

"No, it was the electrics," Stiles disagrees, straining against his dad's grip as Lydia sets the bloodied knife on the desk and calmly pulls out her keys to unlock the cabinet. She's not even looking at him as she rolls open the drawers.

They're empty. Or empty of what Stiles needs, anyway: no secret whiskey stash. He swallows roughly. "Look, I'm fine. I wasn't looking for what you think--"

"You really think I'd let you do that?" asks his dad, softly.

"You're wrong," Stiles repeats weakly, straining again. His dad lets him free this time. Stiles edges across to the cabinet, sending Lydia skittering backwards a step as he reaches her.

It makes Stiles stop and glance at her, his chest still heaving because it hurts. She's looking back at him with wide eyes, breathing just as hard. Then Stiles sees the pity and it clenches in his gut. He turns away from her, looking at the empty drawers. "It's not what you think. I just-I'm fine. I mean, I slipped. I need a band-aid."

"Lydia, call Melissa, please?" Mayor Stilinski repeats. "Ask if she can bring Scott so it's less obvious why we might want a nurse."

Stiles is staring into the drawer as Lydia withdraws, lost. He feels wrecked. He's not sure how to even articulate himself because the feverish need is still bubbling away. A drink might have quenched it, but what he really needs is a line of coke. He's turning over idea after idea about how he might get it. "I'll just pop out. We don't need to bother Melissa."

"Stiles, does that sound like a good idea to you?"

Stiles bites his lip. He can't stay here because his dad will stop him so he has to try to talk his way out. His dad would just follow if he ran anyway, but it's still a last resort. The backdoor will be best, but then what? "I think it's a good idea, yes. I'm a responsible adult, mostly. I just need band-aids and we're out."

"Really?" His dad is in front of him, forcing Stiles to meet his eyes. "Talk to me."

Stiles inches back, glancing at the door. Mayor Stilinski steps sideways to block Stiles' exit.

"No, Stiles," says his dad. "We've done this before. We can do it again if you need to."

Stiles shakes his head, preparing himself. It's going to have to be making a break for it. It's dawned on him where to go now. He'll head out the back, down the alley and get a cab to Sinema, losing the paparazzi on route. No one knows Sinema so no one will be waiting for him. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Stiles, kid, come on--" says his dad, breaking off when the bell rings below. "That was fas--"

Stiles charges while his dad's distracted, shouldering him out of the way and dashing through the door. He slams into the wall opposite, bouncing away and sprinting down the hallway. There's a roar of paparazzi below as the door opens.

"Lydia! Lock the doors!" shouts his dad.

Stiles pelts down the stairs, only glancing up at the last moment and spotting the reason the door had opened: Derek.

"Stiles!" Derek dodges around Lydia as she surges to lock the door.

Stiles skids over the next step and starts to fall, only saved by Derek catching him.

"Are you hurt?" Derek asks urgently.

Stiles tries to tug his way free when his wrists get inspected again. "No, it's nothing. What are you doing here?"

"It's not as serious as it looks," says his dad, stopping beside them and laying a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Thank you for catching him."

"Let go," Stiles says, yanking at Derek's grip. "I am fine."

"You weren't answering your phone," says Derek, releasing Stiles in surprise. "What's going on?"

Stiles is almost free when his dad grabs him again, rapidly moving him off the stairs in a massive bear hug. He can see Lydia pressed back against the door across from him.

"If I kept alcohol in the house he'd be wasted," says his dad bluntly. "If you're staying, help me get him in the living room while we wait for Melissa to deal with his hands. Lydia, get me some warm water and towels?"

"No!" Stiles grabs at his dad's arm. "Derek, he doesn't understand. I'm fine. This was an accident and I just need to go out and--" 

"Okay. Okay," Derek steps forward to help and Stiles finds himself manhandled into the other room. At one point Stiles gets a fist free and takes a swing at Derek, because god fucking damn it, Derek doesn't even pause to consider if Stiles is telling the truth.

Derek catches his fist just in time.

"Stiles!" Finally his dad has reached shouting and it shocks him.

Stiles stops struggling for a moment, still breathing heavily. It gives Derek opportunity to sit Stiles down on the sofa, holding him in place by his shoulders.

"Thank you, Derek. Maybe you can leave us to it, now?" says Mayor Stilinski, moving to crouch in front of Stiles and take his bloodied hands without actually glancing at Derek. Stiles is only vaguely aware of the weight of Derek's hands withdrawing, focused on his dad's mouth as he speaks: "Okay, kid. It's you and me. You with me enough to remember what your therapist said yet?"

Stiles catches a glimpse of Derek's face over his dad's shoulder, eyes full of pity, and Lydia hanging back beyond. His dad is looking just as concerned until Stiles nods jerkily.

Stiles can remember if he tries; he just doesn't want to.

* * *

"You get one day to feel sorry for yourself." It's the last thing his father says, pressing a kiss to Stiles' forehead before he leaves the room.

Barely any time has passed in the scheme of things - Thirty minutes? An hour? - but it feels like everything's shifted. He can think clearly again.

And Stiles does feel awful. Not because he'd craved, because he can forgive himself for that. He always craves. It's a persistent background hum that he's learnt to accept. So Stiles can forgive himself for craving so much. Stiles just can't forgive himself for Derek. When he dares to check the latest news, the glaring headline has changed: _Love Triangle? Stiles Strikes Back at Lover's Ex'_.

Stiles can't even summon a smile at the reference to Star Wars. He doesn't bother with the article, dropping his phone onto the table and taking a deep breath. It scarcely crosses his mind that Derek might have waited when he's interrupted.

"Stiles?"

It's Derek.

Stiles stiffens because he can't do it. He doesn't know how to hold his chin up and be sorry. He shakes his head, hoping Derek will take the hint. He won't face him.

"Please can we talk?" Derek asks.

"No," Stiles replies, not looking around. He can see those moments in his mind's eye: Derek's pity, Derek's doubt. Stiles can't face the fact he actually deserved it. He feels humiliated. None of that is on Derek, but he needs time. He needs distance. "Please leave."

"I don't want--" Derek starts.

"Derek, I'm fine!" Stiles snaps, on the verge of tears and hoping it doesn't show. "I just don't want you here. I want you to leave. Get out!"

There's silence in the wake of his outburst, then a muffled click. The door?

Stiles has to resist the urge to look round. He wants to take it back already, but now there's even more between them. He just feels tired and awful, hurting to his core.

"Stiles?" asks his dad, almost making him jump.

Stiles looks up with wet eyes, swallowing. "Yeah?"

"I've booked an appointment tomorrow with your therapist, okay?" says his dad. It's what they'd agreed.

Stiles nods. "Okay. Did Derek leave?"

"Just." Mayor Stilinski is frowning. "He seemed pretty upset. You didn't talk to him?"

"I can't," Stiles replies. He scrubs his eyes and stands. His hands still feel raw, but they're at least cleaned from the water and towels, no longer bleeding. "Is Melissa still coming?"

"She'll be here any minute," says the Mayor. "You want something to eat?"

"I'm fine," Stiles replies, and it's not completely a lie. He feels adrift, like he needs to keep moving or he might end up crumbling again. He doesn't want to wallow right now. "Is Lydia still here? I should apologise."

"You know she doesn't expect you to?" His dad lays a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "She's in the kitchen making coffee."

Stiles nods and heads that way. It feels like the day's gone on forever, but it's barely been any time since his father reached home. He goes slowly to the kitchen, wondering what to say. In the end it's simple.

Lydia is just adding milk to the coffee as he enters. She sets it down, gripping the counter edge as she looks at him. "Hi," she says.

"Hi," Stiles replies. "I wanted to say sorry. I, um, I know you haven't really--"

"Stiles, it's fine," Lydia breaks in. "I'm fine. You're better now. I just didn't realise quite how it was. You scared me. I mean, I was scared for you."

"I'll be okay," Stiles replies looking down at his hands. "It's just been a tough day. I didn't realise how bad things were until it was too late."

"But it wasn't too late," Lydia says gently, smile hesitant. "You're here now. You haven't used."

Stiles nods, smiling faintly. "Yeah."

It had still been too close for Stiles' comfort. He'd lost his way; lost his anchor. It had only been for a short time, but if his dad hadn't come home...

"Stiles, Melissa's here," calls his dad, startling him. He hadn't even noticed the front door. He feels so out of whack.

Stiles hesitates, not sure he's really done with Lydia. She's done so much for him, but she's never had to deal with him being like that before. He always made sure his father kept her away.

"Go on," she urges. "I'm fine, Stiles."

Stiles nods and leaves for the hallway, struggling to smile as he sees the concerned expressions of Melissa and Scott. "Hey, come on, I'm fine." He holds up his hands. "Mostly fine?"

"Dude, what happened?" Scott has the puppy dog eyes going on.

"How about you pair discuss that later," says Melissa. "Stiles, lounge. Let's deal with those hands."

Stiles nods. "Yeah, cool."

"We're gaming tonight, right?" Scott asks. "I need to thrash you on Halo. I mean, your hands are okay, right?"

"Yeah, we are and they are, really shallow cuts," Stiles agrees, already following Melissa. He just needs to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Distract, distract, distract.

It can't be that hard, can it?

* * *

Stiles is wrong. It's worse than hard. The day of the live show is a complete disaster.

The day he'd cracked, Scott ended up staying over and they'd played Halo all night, but when Scott went to practice with Kira the next day, Stiles called in sick. He had the therapist appointment as an excuse but, in truth, he still couldn't face Derek. He'd lost count of the number of missed calls and deleted texts.

Too soon, today had rolled around. The day of the live show. Stiles wanted to call in sick again this morning but there were phone calls and words bandied around. The words 'contractually obliged' were uttered and his fate sealed. He can't even use his hands as an excuse, the cuts too shallow and fast healing to constitute an impediment.

Stiles has been resigned to the fact it will be terrible even before the decision is made.

His dad, Lydia, even Scott, all tried to talk him into a more positive frame of mind, but Stiles knows it's going to go wrong. He doesn't intend to be negative about it, but he misses Derek horribly and he still feels like a let down.

Stiles can scarcely even look Derek in the eye when he arrives, and Derek takes his cue not to ask questions. Their dress rehearsal is unsurprisingly stilted. Stiles waves his pompoms with insufficient vigour to start, and he feels like he's tripping over himself in their steps. They start three times, but then have no choice but to finish the abysmal run-through. Stiles flees as soon as it's over.

The live show is worse.

Right before they're due out, they run a video interview with Derek. It makes sense, because Stiles hadn't been in yesterday to film, but it makes something clench in Stiles' gut as Derek admits, _"I'm honestly not sure if he'll be back tomorrow."_

Stiles glances at Derek before they go on, but Derek's frowning down at the floor. Stiles is about to speak - parts his lips to say something - but then he's waved on and it's all too late.

He misses his timing from the start, misses taking hold of Derek's hand and glimpses Derek's shuttered expression. He's out for the first steps and trips on the next. He keeps trying, but it's useless.

They've always said the jive is difficult for tall contestants. It involves so many rapid kicks and flicks. Stiles is not only tall, but he's a klutz on a good day. Today is so far from good.

They reach the halfway point and Stiles has misstepped five times, including an attempt to turn in the wrong direction. They're about to try a tricky spin where Stiles catches Derek's hand and Stiles is dreading it.

The crucial moment seems to occur in slow motion. Taylor Swift is valiantly singing about _Shake it Off_ and Stiles sees his hand missing Derek's and knows he's going down. He tries to roll with it - they learnt to fall first week - but he still ends up on his back, staring at the ceiling. It's the icing on the cake to his weekend.

"Stilinski," someone bellows from the audience, "This is no time to be flat on your back."

There are titters of laughter and the music's still playing, but the words land like a weight on his chest. Stiles can't remember the dance at all. Derek's holding out a hand, trying to help him cover, but Stiles just can't. He rolls to his hands and knees and flees the dance-floor to the sound of gasps. "I'm sorry!"

He's hyperventilating as he comes backstage, almost barrelling into Cora and Jackson as they wait to go on next. Stiles is quite set to run straight out of the building when he's caught by a surprisingly strong grip and shoved into a seat. "Sit, stay."

Stiles gulps for air and can't do anything else. Shit. He's fucked up so badly. He left Derek on his own in the middle of the dance-floor on live TV. He should go back but he can't even breathe.

"Stiles, breathe," Cora says, coming to crouch beside him in her stunning evening dress. "You're okay. It's fine. Just calm down."

Stiles looks at her wildly as a dark skinned girl comes up and presses a glass of water into his hand, her own remaining cupped around his to help him bring the water to his lips. "Try and drink."

"Wh-who?" Stiles stutters, splashing water down his chin as he tries.

"I'm Braeden," she replies, expression concerned. "Laura's girlfriend. How are you feeling?"

"I fucked up so bad," Stiles whispers, but he is calming. "I-I just left him--"

"Derek's a big boy," Cora interrupts. "He can take it, okay?"

"I wrecked everything." Stiles concentrates on inhaling and exhaling, trying to push down that panic.

"Don't be such a drama queen, Stilinski." Jackson rolls his eyes. "Maybe you'd be better off without the show."

"Jackson, don't help," Cora orders. "Stiles, you didn't. Worst case right now, you end up in the dance off."

"I can't do that again!" Stiles exclaims.

"You won't," says Braeden, setting the glass down beside them. "Look at me here, yeah?"

"Um, Braeden, he will have to--" Cora starts.

"Cora, go dance," Braeden cuts her off, giving her a meaningful stare as Stiles shakes. "I got this."

Cora frowns, hesitating, but then her name's called and she's backing away.

Braeden looks back to Stiles and Stiles looks at her. She has this kind fierceness, and he thinks Laura must be lucky.

"Now I don't mean you won't have to dance again, but you won't fuck up like that. Laura and Derek told me about you, okay? I've heard how strong you can be. I heard you had a wobble, too, but you're allowed. Laura had a wobble today, so she asked me to come support you and Derek for her," says Braeden, and she's gripping Stiles hands and holding eye contact, being honest. "Now Derek's gonna come off that stage in a minute and you need to be calm. He won't be pissed, but you need to bring it now. You and him, you get out of here and you practice the fuck out of your dance for the rest of the show so you're ready for the dance off. Can you do that?"

Stiles' breathing is still short, but he finds himself nodding as she does and she gives him a small smile.

"Good boy," Braeden says, squeezing his hands. "How you doing?"

"B-better," Stiles admits, and his chest is easier. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Braeden replies. "Now dry your eyes. Your results are coming up."

Braeden nods to a screen behind her and Stiles bites his lip as he glances up. Her hand locks around his reassuringly. "You know what's about to happen. You're smart. It's not scary when you know, is it?"

Stiles releases a breath as the numbers come up: One, Three, Two, Two.

And Braeden's right, he realises, blinking damp eyes. "No," he whispers, and he remembers something his therapist said. "If you accept that it's coming, it just means you can be prepared."

Braeden nods. "Doesn't matter who you're about to be up against. You have that."

Stiles nods slowly, then lifts his chin, setting his shoulders back. "Okay, yeah. I know. I'm not going to be scared."

And he feels that, he really does.

...facing Derek might be another matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to take a moment to say a massive thank you to those people who've subscribed/bookmarked/left kudos/left comments - without going into everything you never wanted to know about me, I have a mad-busy job and a lot of exams coming up, so all those little things you do really cheer-lead me on with finding time for this fic, especially since it keeps getting longer and longer. It's also my birthday today, so I apologise that you get angst as a thank you here, but I promise things will improve! Hope you keep enjoying.


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles manages to take the water from Braeden, holding it shakily and sipping as he waits for Derek to come off stage. He keeps his eyes on the floor, on the toes of his shoes. He's peripherally aware from the noise that Cora and Jackson must have taken to the floor; it masks the sound of Derek's approach until Braeden greets him.

"I think Stiles wants to talk to you," says Braeden. "I'm going to call Laura, okay?"

Stiles doesn't hear Derek reply. "I'm sorry," Stiles tells his shoes.

"Why don't we talk in the practice studio?" Derek invites, his tone neutral.

Stiles nods, finally lifting his gaze.

Derek holds his hand out to him, cautious as though approaching a wounded animal. Stiles supposes that's what he is.

Stiles takes Derek's hand, sees the relief in his expression as he pulls Stiles up. Guilt squirms in his gut, because Stiles did that to Derek - made Derek feel wary of his reception. He kept pushing Derek away. Stiles doesn't understand why Derek's here now and willing to talk at all. Why would Derek want to be here with him after what he's done, what he's said...?

"Stop," says Derek, gently. It draws Stiles' attention. "Stop thinking so loud. Just walk with me."

Derek leads him out of the main studio, ignoring the fact they're meant to go and sit in the background on camera. Stiles supposes it probably doesn't matter if they leave the show tonight anyway.

"How are you feeling?" Derek asks once they're in the corridors.

Stiles is still holding his water in his free hand, sipping sloppily. He swallows. "Not great, but Braeden helped."

"I'm glad," says Derek, and he sounds like he means it.

"Why?" Stiles asks.

Derek pulls open the practice studio door, ushering Stiles through. His expression is perplexed. "What do you mean 'why?'"

"Why are you glad I'm okay?" Stiles presses. "Why aren't you angry? I just left you there. I said the wrong things to the press. And I remember you saw me Thursday night."

"So?" Derek looks at him, the faintest hint of irritation finally showing. "You have an illness. You made mistakes. You want me to hate you for it?"

"I don't _want_ you to," Stiles replies. "But why don't you care?"

"I do care!" It's the closest Derek has ever come to shouting, his brows drawn, jaw tight, shoulders hunched. "You threw me under the bus, twice. It's a fact I'm well aware of. It's why when I step foot outside, I get asked about Kate. It's why I just had to stand through the judging comments all by myself. But do you know what, Stiles? I care more about you."

Stiles swallows. "But--"

"But nothing," Derek interrupts. "Stop second guessing me. You've met Laura. You think I wasn't prepared for this?"

"You expected me to fuck up?" Stiles is hurt.

"I expected you to struggle," Derek states. "I expected to be working with an addict on a high pressure show. I expected that you would need time and space sometimes. And yes, I expected you would probably run out of the studio on me. But I also expected - and I _still_ expect - that you'll keep coming back."

"It's harder than I thought," Stiles admits.

"And you're succeeding more than you give yourself credit for," Derek points out. He's quiet, taking several steps away from Stiles before turning back to face him. "Stiles, do you have any idea how excited I was when I found out that I'd be dancing with you?"

Stiles blinks. "Me-me?"

"Yes," says Derek. He's lapsed to that small smile that Stiles loves, the one that could be a grin or might grow to be breathtaking. "I researched you. I asked around. I found out about the accident, yes, but I also discovered a guy who loved life and fun, who was willing to try anything, even if he got in trouble - who stood up for causes and people he believed in."

"Not LGBT though," Stiles points out. He's embarrassed and pleased over Derek's words, but still guilty about that.

"So? You're doing it now." Derek comes to him, taking his hands. "You're not perfect. I'm not perfect. But you're so much more than I expected and I am proud of you."

"Thank you," Stiles says, because he can be gracious sometimes. "I am sorry though, about everything. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Just don't push me away," Derek tells him. "This only works if we're a team."

It's also too intense, the way they're standing so close, still holding hands. Stiles tries for levity and it comes out poorly: "I can't even push you as a dance move?"

"Not if I don't choreograph it," Derek replies, and he's threading their fingers together. His eyes are holding Stiles', the depth of feeling almost overwhelming.

"What would you choreograph me doing now?" Stiles asks. His heart's in his mouth.

Derek smiles, releasing Stiles' hands to cup his face and kiss him, just a sweet, chaste meeting of mouths. "This. Except I really want to do the rumba next week, so we should practice."

"Okay, big guy," Stiles agrees, almost stupid with contentment despite everything. "Fuck, how do you manage this?"

"What?" Derek asks, drawing back but still cradling Stiles' jaw with one hand, stroking distractingly with his thumb.

"You make everything okay," says Stiles.

Derek shakes his head. "I don't. I'm glad if things seem easier right now, but that's all you. It's you choosing to trust me and use my support to make you strong enough to face your challenges."

Stiles stares at him a moment, then laughs, shaking his head. "You sound like a text book with these answers sometimes."

"I like to read," Derek replies, laughter lines crinkling.

"So do I!" Stiles protests. "I read Wikipedia for fun."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "I read books."

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he can't help a grin. "Snob. Why do I like you so much? I mean, I do really like you, you know that?"

"Had an inkling." Derek winks at him. "Something in one of phone calls might have--"

"Asshole," Stiles bitches, cheeks flaming.

"I think that came up," Derek agrees. "An opening in the conversation, so's to speak."

Stiles groans, smacking him in the shoulder. "That was awful. Christ. Why don't we just practice this goddamn dance so we don't get thrown off?"

"Of course," says Derek. "But Stiles, you know I really like you, too, right? That's why."

Stiles nods, almost too touched for words, but then, "Enough of this romantic shit, let's do this."

* * *

It comes as no surprise that Stiles and Derek are bottom of the leader board when the live show ends. Eight points is impressively bad for a score out of forty. The better couples - Scott and Kira, Cora and Jackson - are holding steady around thirty. 

Stiles has to remind himself it's exactly what they were expecting when he's ushered back toward the main studio with Derek. They have video segments to record before they're allowed to resume their practice. The live vote only runs for an hour or so, then they record the results show which'll be aired tomorrow.

It's one of the younger crew members doing the filming: Mason Hewitt. He grins over at Stiles, beckoning to him and Derek as Scott and Kira are finishing off in front of him.

"It's been a tough week," Scott's saying, his arm curled supportively about Kira's waist. "But Kira's done so well tonight. I'm lucky to have her as a partner."

Kira blushes, lowering her lashes. "I'm just sorry to have been so much trouble, but I'm really enjoying it so I have everything crossed I get to stay."

"What do you think of other people's chances?" Mason asks.

Stiles tightens his hold on Derek's hand, stopping a bit out of Scott and Kira's view. He can't help but feel the question's about him.

"I think it's been a tough week for a few of us," Scott says diplomatically.

Then Kira blows that to smithereens. "Stiles really deserves to stay. I hope the public get behind him and Derek. I mean, it's up in the air for everyone, but I really hope people vote for them. Stiles loves it so much and he's been trying so hard."

It occurs to Stiles that maybe she thinks she's making up for what happened last weekend. It seems so long ago with everything that has happened since.

"Thanks, guys," says Mason. "Stiles?"

Kira and Scott look around immediately and Stiles' spot is rumbled. They're advancing, twin expressions of concern on their faces.

Stiles only realises he's taken a step back when he hits a wall of Derek, and then Derek's releasing his hand to wrap an arm around Stiles' waist instead.

"Hey Scott, Kira," says Derek. "You two did a great samba tonight."

Stiles nods after a beat, because his mind is blank and he doesn't remember their dance at all. "You really did."

"Thanks," says Scott. Stiles can tell from Scott's momentary amusement that he knows Stiles has no idea how Scott and Kira did really. Best friends - can't get anything past them. "You okay, man?"

Stiles nods, trying not to let the looks get to him. They're so worried that he almost feels like he ought to be as brittle as they expect.

"He's doing better than okay," says Derek. "We've been shaking it all off."

Stiles groans. "If I never hear that song again after tonight..."

"You guys ready?" Mason asks. Stiles wants to kiss him; it's the perfect excuse to escape the awkwardness of Kira and Scott's concern - they can't tell whether to laugh or feel sorry, and suddenly Stiles feels that he's different for his addiction. It makes him feel less capable, handicapped, challenged, defined. He's not normal, never normal, he's just ill. And Stiles knows he is, it's a fact, but he hates feeling that. He hates feeling everything else that identifies him blur away - he's no longer Stiles. Stiles doesn't want to be ill, he wants to be more than his addiction.

"We're ready," Derek agrees. He nods to Scott and Kira. "Catch you later?"

"Definitely," Kira agrees, relieved.

"Count on it," Scott agrees. "And Stiles?"

"Yeah?" Stiles has already left Derek's side to get in front of the camera and encourage their exit.

"Dude, you know we don't think less of you, right?" Scott tells him, expression all serious puppy dog eyes. These moments of intuition from Scott never stop surprising Stiles. "I mean, maybe some of us don't know quite what to say--" _Kira_ "--but we're still proud."

"Dude," Stiles complains. "Don't get sappy and shit on me right before I'm on camera."

Derek snorts. "He means thank you."

Stiles huffs. "Excuse you, big guy, I can talk for myself."

Scott laughs as Derek raises disbelieving eyebrows. Kira looks on the verge of giggles. Something loosens in Stiles' chest.

"Thank you, Scott," Stiles says pointedly. "Now Derek, heel."

"Let's go grab a drink," Scott says to Kira, steering her away quickly.

"Heel?" Derek echoes, almost growling.

"Like a good boy," Stiles challenges, smirking.

Mason is struggling to keep a straight face behind the camera.

Derek marches into shot, and Stiles skitters back out the other side.

"Guys," Mason warns.

"Scared now, Stilinski?" Derek asks, folding his arms across his chest so his biceps bulge.

"Of you, Hale?" Stiles pops back into the shot, poking Derek in the solidly muscled chest. "Never!"

"Do you pair have any intention of sharing your thoughts about the show?" Mason asks. "Maybe views on being bottom of the leader board?"

Stiles lets Derek reel him back in by an arm around his waist again. It's comforting as he lifts his chin to look at the camera. "I'm really sorry about what happened. I know most viewers are already aware that I struggle with addiction and today all got a bit too much. Most of all, I'm sorry to Derek though."

"Stiles-" Derek starts to say.

Stiles pulls away so he can turn to face him. "No, look. I said this between us but I want people to know. I'm sorry. I really, really like you. I want to keep dancing with you so much. I want to know what ideas you have for next week, though I'm praying it's not more Miley Cyrus or Taylor Swift. If I end up in the dance off this week, I'll deserve it, but you won't, so I'm sorry. If it happens, I promise to give two hundred percent to make sure we have another chance. And I promise that next week, I'll prove I deserve it."

Derek pulls him into a tight hug. "I wouldn't want to dance with anyone else."

"Gah, feelings crap again," Stiles mumbles into his shoulder.

Derek laughs.

"Guys, I have a cavity," Mason complains. "You really want to air that?"

"Do you, Stiles?" Derek asks.

Stiles nods, hugging Derek tight. "They already know. I'm not ashamed."

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Derek tenses against him. "Uncle Peter."

"Nephew," Peter acknowledges. "Stiles."

Stiles turns in Derek's arms. "Peter."

"I just wanted to wish you both luck," Peter tells them. He's not even looking at them, examining his nails. "I mean, you're going to need it."

"A fact that you needn't rub in." Derek's growl sounds less playful this time. Stiles can't remember if he's always been this averse to his uncle or not.

"I wouldn't call it rubbing in," Peter says. "Just offering familial support."

"It didn't sound supportive," Stiles mutters.

Peter folds his arms, leaning against the wall. "Braeden asked if you'd stop by your dressing room, by the way. She had Laura on the phone again just."

"You could have opened with that," says Derek, releasing Stiles. "You'll be okay if I'm right back?"

"I'm fine," Stiles replies, and he means it.

Derek kisses his cheek and leaves.

"He's such a loyal boy, my nephew," says Peter, watching Stiles. "But a bit naive, don't you think?"

Stiles glances back at him, folding his arms across his chest. "No, I don't."

"But come now, Stiles." Peter drops his arms, closing the distance between them to touch Stiles' shoulder. "We both know it's not nearly so easy as he makes it seem. He probably makes it harder, doesn't he, for you to cope when he's not there. Do you feel unsettled now, Stiles?"

Stiles shrugs out of his grip. "I don't like you."

"That's not very kind." Peter lifts a hand to his chest. "You've wounded me."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I don't know what you're trying to sell here, but I ain't buying."

"Such distrust," says Peter, tilting his head. "I can't be genuinely concerned for my nephew and his partner?"

"You could be," Stiles agrees. "But you're not."

Peter shrugs, backing up again. "You're entitled to think what you want. See you for the dance off."

Stiles glares as Peter peels away.

"Intense," breathes Mason, startling him. "You really don't like him, huh?"

"I just don't get his game," Stiles replies, looking back at Mason and wondering how much of this is recorded now. "I mean, does he even like working on this show?"

Mason shrugs. "I don't know. I heard he was just filling in for someone once, but no one's ever mentioned who for."

Stiles blinks filing that information away. "Oh. Um. Did you need anything else? Is, err, is that gonna air?"

"You're done," Mason assures him, grinning. "And we'll just air you and Derek making cow eyes, don't worry."

Stiles flushes a bit. "I'll just go find him then. To practice. Dancing."

Mason smirks.

* * *

p>

It's an hour later and Stiles is sure he's being punished for his behaviour on the live show. If the results show was live, too, it'd be unwise to stress Stiles like this after earlier, but Stiles isn't that lucky.

Kali is in the dance off again. She had a terrible score (albeit better than Stiles and Derek) and the public don't seem to get her. Stiles feels sorry for Boyd though. The guy seems solid, just tied to a rubbish partner. Heh, he has that in common with Derek.

It means that Stiles and Derek are still waiting to have their places confirmed as Peter whittles down the list. There's scarcely anyone else left and Peter is loving every moment. His long pauses to drag out the suspense are monumentally annoying.

"Malia and Adrian, you are through to next week," says Peter, finally. "Congratulations. That leaves Ennis and Erica, and Stiles and Derek. One of you will go through to next week. The other will face Kali and Boyd in the dance off."

Stiles and Derek are back in the same position as earlier, Stiles leaning back against Derek with Derek's arm around his waist for support. He's holding Derek's hand in his own, shaking.

The problem is that Stiles has a tiny shred of hope that people will have taken pity on his illness and voted. When he's surrounded by such support, it can be difficult to remember some people out there really hate him for his addiction. So now he's uncertain when he should be certain, waiting, waiting. There are shouts for him from the audience, but he's not sure how much that really means.

"The couple that will be joining Kali and Boyd in the dance off this week is..." Peter lifts his hand to his ear. "Stiles and Derek. Erica and Ennis, you're through to next week. Stiles and Derek, if you can join me, please."

Stiles is disappointed and hurt as Derek guides him down, even if he should have expected it. He's shaking, terrified of messing up and forgetting steps again.

Kali and Boyd join them, and Stiles glances over. He anticipates the camaraderie typical of dance offs: neither of them want to be here or end up going home, but neither of them wish the other ill either. Except Kali didn't get the memo, so she's glaring at Stiles something fierce. Boyd looks a bit more rational.

"Kali," says Peter, and he's smirking. "Bobby described your samba as 'sucking the soul out of the party' while Deucalion described your shimmies as 'reminiscent of an epileptic fit'. Stiles, Deucalion wasn't 'sure if finishing would even have helped', while Julia noted 'some serious timing issues and errors.' Head Judge Alan, do you have any advice for them?"

Derek grows gradually more tense behind Stiles until his fingers are digging into Stiles' arms. Stiles takes hold of his hand. He appreciates the protectiveness, but it's not helping his own anxiety.

Even Deaton, who has the best poker face that Stiles has ever seen, looks dissatisfied with Peter. "I can only say the same to both couples. We know that skill won't necessarily be there in week two, but do your best and show us how well you can act. We want the passion."

"Thank you, Alan," says Peter. "Stiles and Derek, you were first in the running order on the show so you'll go first in the dance off."

_Crap._

But Stiles nods and composes himself. Everything's a bit white noise as he finds himself manoeuvred into position and pompoms placed in his hands. The only thing he can hear for a long moment is his own thundering heart, a bit blank as their backup dancers crowd around him in their little outfits.

Stiles almost misses the opening notes, but then...

_No. I can do this._

...he's lifting his pompoms, jumping up and down as Derek comes somersaulting down the stage. It's easy to be enthused and awkward and everything Derek wanted. Because Derek is everything Stiles wants; he makes Stiles feel that way.

By the time Derek places his hand in Stiles', Stiles is feeling more confident. He knows he won't be perfect, but he's going to have fun and do his best. And he damn well won't fall on his ass.

They kick and they flick, they twist and turn. They shake off every comment from the week. Every glance. Every photo. Haters gonna hate but they're shaking it all off. And Derek's grinning at Stiles, and Stiles is grinning back.

This, Stiles thinks, is what dancing should be. No pressure to please, just joyous immersion. He's laughing and clinging to Derek when they finish. They share a brief kiss right on camera, part of the choreography Derek revamped in their break.

"I'm so proud of you," Derek tells him as he leads Stiles off, both of them sweat soaked and breathless.

"Me too. That was amazing." Stiles pushes his damp hair back from his forehead. "Oh god. I want to do that all the time."

"We will," Derek promises as the music strikes up for Kali and Boyd. "Even if it's not in the competition."

Stiles grins at him. "I'll hold you to that."

"Looking forward to it," says Derek. Then he shifts slightly so as to see the main studio from off stage.

Stiles isn't sure if he wants to watch in case Kali has somehow gotten good. It seems unlikely, but he knows his jive was still far from perfect and, regardless of Derek's kind words, he doesn't want to leave the show yet.

As it transpires, Kali hasn't really improved, but Stiles isn't counting any chickens. He knows the judges are supposed to restrict their consideration to this performance, but he ran off in the live show. There's no escaping that.

It seems too soon that Peter's calling them back out, Stiles' stomach in knots.

Peter is smiling, white and wide, chattering through the rote lines about the competition rules. Stiles knows perfectly well how it works - his future on the show is in the hands of the judges. He's just thankful that they don't drag out the wait on this aspect. That's all used for announcing who's in the dance off.

Stiles also knows that he and Kali are meant to be bonding and showing shared support and concern right now, except when he glances over, she's still glaring murder at him.

"Deucalion, we'll start with you," says Peter. "Which couple would you like to save?"

"On the basis of just the performance we've just seen," Deucalion caveats, "I'd like to save Stiles and Derek."

"Julia?" Peter asks.

"Both couples really upped their game just now, so I commend that, but I have to choose Stiles and Derek." Julia tends to be good like that, trying to say something positive to everyone.

"Stiles and Derek, you now have two votes," Peter says, like the audience can't count to two. Stiles has never appreciated just how frustrating these sorts of conventions are from the other side. Peter seems to take malicious glee in them. "If Bobby also votes to keep you, you'll be through to next week. Bobby?"

"For me there's only one choice - I vote to save Stiles and Derek," says Bobby.

"But he--" and Kalia's mic cuts out, leaving her only audible to those nearest. "--fucking ran off!"

Stiles swallows roughly and Derek squeezes him. It looks like they're going through, but it'll be contentious with the public.

"Thank you. Alan, can I just confirm whether you would have concurred?" Peter asks like Kali hasn't spoken. Stiles catches his eye briefly and Peter's gaze is hard, unsympathetic.

"I would," Alan agrees, glancing at Kali, lips thinned.

Peter nods, taking Kali's wrist in an unkind grip. "Stiles and Derek, you're through to the next round. Unfortunately this means we say a sad farewell to Kali and Boyd. Let's applaud them in their final dance. Go on, both of you."

Stiles finds himself towed off by Derek as Boyd endeavours to manhandle a resistant Kali into some semblance of a dance. There's a smattering of confused background applause from the audience that will need to be overwritten.

It all serves to sour Stiles' sense of victory. They're through so much more easily than he imagined, except at what cost? Will the audience keep quiet? Will Kali? What will tomorrow's papers say?

Worst of all, Stiles realises every week could be just as hard. He has more confidence to face it, but he's not so idiotic as to disregard the cost.

"Stiles?" Derek prompts him with the air of someone who's repeated themselves already. "Say something?"

Stiles blinks. "Sorry, I just--Sometimes it seems so huge?"

"That's why we're a team." Derek grasps his hand. "I'm not giving up on you."

Stiles squeezes back. "Neither am I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for reading guys - means so much you're enjoying it!


	12. Chapter 12

"Stiles?"

"Mm?" Stiles is having a nice dream; Derek's mouth is far too busy to be asking questions.

"Stiles, wake up."

"Nuh-uh." Stiles really doesn't want to wake up, it's a Very Nice dream. But. "Wait." He recognises that voice. "D'rek?"

"Yeah, it's me. I brought coffee."

"Why're you in my room?" Stiles is feeling pretty sleep befuzzled, but he thinks Derek in his room should be a positive thing. Next step will be getting Derek into bed.

"Your dad let me in. He, err, he said he was going back to bed." There is definitely sheepishness in that voice. Next there is temptation. "I brought coffee? Proper Starbucks coffee."

Stiles prides himself on being an ex-sheriff's son who learned a few things. "Whassa time?"

Silence ensues, then Derek says, "...please get up?"

Stiles' overwhelming curiosity has woken him enough to open one eye and lift the covers to peek out. He sees two things. First, there is a fully dressed Derek hovering beside his bed holding a coffee flask that does have the Starbucks logo on the side. He's dressed in jeans and a Henley and looks yummy. Second, however, Stiles sees his alarm clock.

Stiles' alarm clock is not due to go off for another four hours. He closes his eye again. "D'rek. Six. Sunday."

Stiles' brain briefly skitters over the fact Derek must have been up since before six to be here but decides it can't process that information. Then he thinks about the 'proper Starbucks coffee' and wonders how Derek got it. He blurts out, in the middle of whatever Derek was saying that he's not listening to, "You rob Starbucks?"

"Oh, no, it's the stuff they sell for you to make at home. I made it downstairs," Derek says. "I have the flask for the discount?"

Stiles doesn't follow. He lifts the covers a bit. "Get'n."

"What?"

"Get'n," Stiles repeats. "Too early."

"Stiles, weren't you even listening to--"

"Nuh," Stiles cuts him off. "Six. Try ten. Get'n."

"You want me to get into bed with you?" Derek asks redundantly.

"'m sleeping," Stiles says. "Get'n."

Derek huffs. "Your coffee'll go cold."

"Blow you later?" Stiles offers, opening that one eye again, tone all casual like. He can do that when he's too sleep befuddled to be self-conscious.

Derek pauses, looking back at him and raising one eyebrow.

Stiles pokes his tongue out lewdly.

Derek rolls his eyes, though Stiles is pretty sure the tips of his ears are turning pink. "So much for missing the traffic. Move over."

Stiles closes his eye again, beaming widely and squirming across his bed to make space. From the thuds and rustles, he surmises Derek must be ditching his shoes and maybe his jeans.

Moments later the bed dips and Derek's lying beside him. Stiles cuddles up, tucking his head against Derek's shoulder. "Mm, 'kay, sleep."

"Remind me never to try and surprise you with anything romantic ever again," Derek grumbles, but he's winding an arm around Stiles to pull him close.

"Surprise later," says Stiles, relaxing into the embrace of sleep again.

* * *

When Stiles wakes for the second time - not that he counts the first time - it's still before his alarm, but it's a much more rational time of between eight and nine. Even now he wouldn't be awake normally, except he's overheating and there are soft snores in his ear.

It takes a few moments for Stiles to process what's happened. His recollection is a bit patchy, but there's Derek at his side like a human radiator. He looks peaceful and deeply asleep for someone so determinedly up at six am. He looks perfect in Stiles' bed.

And Stiles remembers what he promised him.

Now that Stiles is properly awake, he has opportunity to reflect that giving Derek a morning blow-job is not the smartest idea when they're meant to be taking things slow. Particularly after the past rocky few days...

...then again, Derek climbed into bed with him after he suggested it. Stiles counts that as tacit consent, and he firmly believes Derek deserves a special thank you for the last few days.

Mind made up, Stiles slinks out of his bed to the tune of a soft grumble from Derek and locks the door. The absolute last thing Stiles needs now is his dad walking in. Stiles would hope his dad would know better since he'd let Derek in originally, but his dad wouldn't have been fully awake at that point so Stiles isn't counting on it.

The lock snicks softly and Derek makes a soft enquiring sound from the bed.

"I'm here," says Stiles, and he practically dives back onto the bed, crawling up to snug along Derek's side. "Hi."

"Good morning." Derek's all sleep soft and Stiles leans and kisses him, morning breath be damned. Derek meets him part way. "Mm."

"Mm," Stiles echoes. This close, Derek's terribly hard to resist. Stiles blames that fact as he flicks his tongue against Derek's lower lip. It's forward and dirty for first thing - Stiles should probably apologise when Derek pulls back - but Derek doesn't pull away.

Instead, Derek opens to him, just as ready and accepting as he's been of everything else. Their kiss deepens rapidly, tongues tangling as Derek slides his hands over Stiles' sides and pulls him in.

Stiles catches himself with a palm against the pillow beside Derek's head. They're nose to nose when they break the kiss. Stiles is captivated anew by Derek's eyes: he loves their myriad of colour, and right now he loves how Derek's pupils are dilating with arousal.

"You look amazing right now," Stiles says, stroking Derek's side. He's smug. He put that arousal there.

"What? In your bed?" Derek's as breathless as Stiles.

"Yeah," says Stiles, shameless. "Gonna suck you now."

Derek blinks, then Stiles sees the recollection of their conversation dawn. A grin spreads over Derek's mouth and he drags Stiles back in for an enthusiastic kiss.

Stiles laughs into the kiss, breaking it to press his lips to the corner of Derek's smiling mouth. He wants Derek always smiling. Stiles nuzzles his stubbly jaw, breathing in the scent of Derek's skin, the traces of soap and aftershave, and something inherently Derek.

It hits Stiles as he's gazing down at Derek in his bed. Stiles isn't merely fond of Derek, he isn't falling for him, no, Stiles is head over heels in love with Derek. It's a paradigm shifting revelation for Stiles.

Stiles Stilinski is in love with Derek Hale.

It's too soon to say that out-loud. They've barely known each other six weeks, even if it feels longer. So Stiles kisses him again, adoring him without words. He loves that little scratch of Derek's stubble on his face, loves everything about him really.

"Not that I'm complaining," Derek says between kisses, mouth stretched in a huge grin, "But this isn't how blowies work."

Stiles snorts inelegantly, rolling his eyes. "Greedy."

"Just holding you to your word." Derek's eyes are sparkling as he nudges his leg up to press between Stiles' thighs knowingly. "We still have my surprise to get to after this and we might get distracted."

Stiles is only human so he definitely rubs against Derek's leg, and Derek's rubbing back, just as aroused. It's a slow leisurely drag because they're not about to go rutting like teenagers. Stiles kisses the hinge of Derek's jaw and down his neck as he murmurs, "If you tell me what the surprise is, I'll know why I need to be fast."

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise," says Derek, fingers tangling in Stiles hair though he doesn't tug.

Stiles pouts a bit, peeking up through his lashes. "We could have a surprise day in bed. We earned it."

Derek chuckles warmly, scritching Stiles' scalp. It feels amazing. Stiles may need a head massage at some time that isn't now. Derek concedes, "Maybe we could blend the ideas."

Stiles beams at him, leaning up to press another kiss to Derek's beautiful smiling mouth. Derek really is too beautiful to be true. "I think you're wearing too much. It'd be a lovely romantic surprise if you took your top off."

Derek laughs, which is a thing of absolute beauty. "Stiles, I don't think anyone who's ever seen the show would consider my taking my top off as a surprise."

The pout is back. "You could do it anyway."

Derek's still snickering as he pulls the now considerably rumpled Henley over his head and tosses it in the vague direction of the floor.

"Why did you even keep that on?" Stiles asks, drinking in the vision unveiled.

"It seemed a bit presumptuous," Derek mutters, and the tips of his ears are pinking up.

Stiles has to pause at that. He has to strike a pose, too, resting on his elbow with his chin in his hand as he looks at Derek. "Wait, so I offer to blow you, and you climb into my bed at top speed, but taking your shirt off is presumptuous?"

"Shut up," Derek grumbles, and this time he's yanking Stiles in for a kiss, Stiles' laughter muffled as it heats up. "Mm, better."

"Much," Stiles agrees, a bit dazed and staring at Derek's pretty mouth. He licks his lips, thinking he could do that all day. But! Derek said he had a surprise and Stiles can totally focus. He wriggles back down the bed, gaze trailing over that perfectly sculpted torso to the little treasure trail below Derek's navel. And Stiles can tell that Derek enjoys it. Derek reclines back, linking his hands behind his head to show everything off. Stiles loves him for it, for being so giving and confident and shameless. Stiles hooks a finger into the waistband of Derek's underwear, tugging at the elastic lightly. "These need to come off."

Derek raises an eyebrow and shifts for a moment, lifting his hips so Stiles can drag the boxer-briefs down. Derek ends up kicking them off as Stiles gets distracted with the looking and trying not to drool.

Now, Stiles swings both ways. He's seen his fair share of naked people and is quite familiar with male and female anatomy. Stiles doesn't really tend to think of people in terms of their sex when he's looking for a partner though - he just likes people, and if they click like that, it's great. Some happen to have cocks, some happen to have pussies. The plumbing is a bit incidental and only relevant to the fact the sex may require more or less lube. It means, for example, cock pics don't do anything for him if there's no person attached. Not normally. But even Stiles has to admit that Derek's dick is gorgeous. It should not be allowed for anyone to be quite so faultless.

So the thing with Derek's dick is that maybe Stiles just likes it because it's Derek's? Maybe. But he doesn't think so. He'll admit to a biased point of view. But it is beautiful. It's thick with arousal, but only so much that it's going to push to four fingers of prep instead of three. It's that girth that'll leave an ache for the next day where you remember just how great the sex was, but not so much you're wincing. It's also a good length - maybe pushing six inches? That length where you really get to feel it, but it's not a monster cock that makes you feel literally skewered. Derek also has this slight curve that Stiles can tell will brush across his prostate just right. It's a perfect cock. It's uncut, which isn't everyone's cup of tea, but the head is flushed and weeping, just rising from beneath its hood of foreskin. It looks delicious, and Stiles gets to put his mouth all over it.

"You're allowed to touch," Derek says idly, spreading his legs in invitation.

Stiles licks his lips again, moving into the space Derek's created. "Can I-d'you want me to use a condom? I'm clean, I promise. Got tested as part of rehab and I haven't touched anyone since."

Derek's silent for a moment, then he admits almost apologetically, "I would love to say go ahead without, but I haven't been tested recently. I'm always safe, or I try to be, but I don't want to take chances here."

"You don't have to be sorry about it," Stiles says quickly, surging back up again for a kiss. Swiftly first, but then another more lingering. "We'll get tested together."

Derek grins back at him, nudging his nose to Stiles'. "You better have a condom for right now."

Stiles laughs and pulls away, craning over Derek to reach into his bedside table. He's pretty sure he's covered, but he wasn't exactly planning this so he disclaims, "I'll jack you if I don't have one, don't worry. Not gonna leave you hanging, big guy."

"You say the sweetest things."

Stiles smirks. He's more than a little relieved to find what he needs though. "Yes!"

Derek laughs at him. "Anyone would think you were the one about to get sucked off."

"You underestimate just how much I want my mouth on your dick right now," Stiles tells him, tearing through the foil as he moves backward. "This is a big fantasy of mine, Der."

"I'm getting that, but you realise you'll be able to do it more than once right? I mean, unless you bite me. I'm not big on teeth."

"No teeth," Stiles agrees, skimming his fingers over Derek's cock just to feel, the skin hot and soft over the straining flesh. Stiles is a bit smug as Derek twitches up into his touch. "It's good of you to give me these pointers. I was gonna be completely lost."

"Jerk," Derek bitches, but he's a touch breathy now. "You know how to put that rubber on?"

"I have an idea." Stiles pokes his tongue out at Derek. "Wanna see my party trick?"

"...you have a party trick appropriate to this moment?" Derek asks. His eyebrows are judging Stiles.

"Hey, there is at least one useful thing I learnt how to do whilst off my head on coke, okay?" Stiles winks at him, because he has to make light of that part of his life sometimes. And then he's getting himself in position over Derek's pretty dick, condom rubbery against his lips. It requires a bit of deft tongue action as he goes from balancing it against his mouth to guiding it slowly down Derek's cock, but he's doing it. And he's already remembering how much it makes his tongue ache.

"Holy fuck," Derek breathes, reminding Stiles why it's worth that ache.

Stiles would grin if he wasn't occupied, glancing up at Derek through his lashes as he pushes the latex down Derek's length with a combination of lips and very cautious teeth. It's slow going, but eventually it's fully unrolled. Derek seems to have forgotten to breathe as Stiles slides his lips up and down his length once to make sure there's no trapped air.

"That really shouldn't be that hot," Derek tells him huskily.

Stiles chuckles as he pulls off for a moment. "Safe sex is very sexy, Derek, come on."

"I meant considering how you learnt it," Derek replies, mouth twisted in amusement.

Stiles just flutters his lashes back at him playfully. He's not going to let that touch him right now, licking a long stripe from near the base of Derek's cock to the sheathed tip. "I wouldn't be complaining in your shoes," he breathes over the head.

"I'm not complaining," Derek assures him, shifting his hips in an encouraging little shuffle. "C'mon Stiles."

Stiles takes the head back into his mouth obligingly, sucking gently. He wants to make this so good for Derek after what they've been through. He wishes he could taste him properly, but he can settle for the rest of his senses. Derek looks amazing, he sounds beautifully wrecked, he feels hot and eager, and the musky smell of him - it's intoxicating. Stiles is a happy boy.

"So not how I planned this morning." Derek's sliding his fingers back into Stiles' hair already.

Stiles makes an inquiring sound, slowly taking more of Derek in because Derek may deserve the blowjob, but he deserves a little teasing, too.

"Was gonna take you away for the day," says Derek.

Stiles looks up at him, meeting Derek's eyes as he explores with his tongue. He wants to know where to linger to drive Derek crazy.

"Packed a - ah - a picnic," Derek explains, fingers tightening in Stiles' hair when Stiles rubs his tongue against the same spot again. "Was gonna get you in the car, mm, um, car, yeah. Gonna drive you up into the mountains."

Stiles slides as far down Derek's shaft as he can easily go, swallowing around him.

"Fuck, Stiles." Derek is straining to keep still, trailing one hand from Stiles' hair to the edge of his lips. "You look really good like that."

Stiles preens and decides to show off a bit more. He breathes deep through his nose, relaxing his throat and slides the last couple of inches to the base of Derek's cock. It's not exactly what Stiles would call comfortable, but the way Derek unravels is incredibly worth it. The noise he makes isn't even a word anymore, somewhere between a grunt and a punched-out moan. He's also pulling Stiles' hair, and Stiles loves that he drove his gentle Derek to it.

"Shit," Derek hisses, fingers releasing like he hears Stiles' thought. "Sorry-wasn't--"

Stiles vocalises his disagreement, albeit rather muffled. He slaps at Derek's hip and gestures for him to thrust as he lifts up a bit. As a socialite, Stiles is well aware most of the population deem him without skills, but he can suck cock like a pro. This, in fact, he learned from one. What? Hiring a prostitute to teach you how to deep throat seems like an amazing idea when you're high, okay? Allison agreed!

"You're going to be the death of me," Derek complains raggedly, but he's already moving his hips. He's tentative at first. Then he seems to register Stiles is fine, or maybe it just feels too good, because he's tightening his fingers again, rocking into Stiles' mouth eagerly. "Thought-thought you showed your-your party trick."

Stiles attempts to convey his response with his eyebrows but he's not as adept with that as Derek and his eyes are watering. He holds up two fingers instead, and sucks hard. He has two tricks!

Derek makes a hilarious noise, some kind of strangled grunt at the suck. "Stiles!"

Stiles has to pull off to laugh, wiping his eyes and then his mouth when he realises a string of spit still connects them. "Sorry," he says, hoarsely. Except he's not.

Derek snorts and tugs Stiles' head back closer to his dick.

"You want something?" Stiles teases, but then he's letting himself be guided back down, Derek rocking eagerly up into his mouth. Stiles isn't smug at all, honest.

"Mm," Derek sighs, head thudding back against the pillow. "You can do this again," he offers generously.

Stiles almost chokes on a laugh, then moans happy agreement. He slides a hand along Derek's thigh to Derek's balls, petting them gently as Derek keeps rocking into his mouth. He doesn't think Derek's going to last too much longer if Stiles starts really going to town on him, not given the hair pulling and litany of breathy little moans Derek's already emitting.

"'S good," says Derek, touching Stiles' lips again as he rocks up into Stiles' mouth. His initial hesitance has fallen away as he chases his orgasm, and Stiles is adoring watching him come undone.

They remain like that for a while, Derek's hands anchored in Stiles' hair as he fucks Stiles' mouth in shallow little thrusts. Stiles breathes through his nose, laving at those sweet spots he's learned as Derek moves. He's feeling well used and it's perfect. He wants to give Derek this. He wants to give Derek more than this.

Stiles swallows again and again, saliva still escaping to drip down Derek's sex and over his balls. Stiles drags his fingers through it, a bit of slick, tracing back over Derek's perineum to his hole. He can feel the full body shudder that runs through Derek.

"Close." Derek's hold tightens. "Do it."

Stiles moans lowly and pushes his fingertip into Derek, feeling the amazing, tight heat of him. The idea of fucking Derek just about blows his mind; his cock - already hard and leaking - twitches between his thighs.

Derek clenches around him as Stiles pushes his finger deeper, crooking it. It has the desired effect. Derek's thrusts go to pieces, sloppy and off kilter, hard to manage to take deep so Stiles pulls back. Derek seems happy enough with shallow and now Stiles can grip him with his free hand. He keeps working him until Derek stills, tensing up entirely and shuddering through his orgasm. Stiles nurses him through it anyway.

"So good," Derek repeats, panting. "Give me five and I'll take care of you, promise."

Stiles pulls off, chuckling. "No rush."

And there really wasn't.

* * *

The third time Stiles wakes, it's clear that Derek's plan for a trip to the mountains isn't going to happen.

It's lunchtime before they emerge properly from Stiles' room between the sex, the post-sex naps and the getting ready to face the day. They find their way to the kitchen.

Stiles flips on the coffee machine as the most urgent priority. Then he notices the note when he goes to the fridge. "Crap."

There's a white sheet of A5 pinned to the door under a Reese's' magnet: _You still need to work on your volume. Gone to the office for the day. Don't leave stains anywhere._

"Oh god," says Derek.

"Sorry," Stiles mumbles, snatching it down and balling it up to shove in the trash.

"Why're you sorry?" Derek asks, cheeks pinking. "You had your mouth full."

Stiles snickers. "Yeah, point. I enjoyed that."

Derek elbows him, but he's grinning.

"What?" Stiles asks, chuckling. "You're really worried about my dad?"

"I'd rather be able to look your dad in the eye at some point ever," says Derek.

"Eh, don't sweat it. You got a free pass after Thursday." Stiles pulls the fridge open. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Actually, I have things in the car," says Derek. "Shall I fetch them in here?"

"Things?" Stiles raises an eyebrow.

"Pastries, strawberries, other fruit?" Derek offers.

"You really were gonna spoil me." Stiles is gleeful, closing the fridge again.

"You mean a lot," Derek tells him, ducking in to kiss his mouth. "I wanted to start this week on the right foot."

Stiles kisses back sweetly. "Mm, you definitely did that. I'll brew coffee while you grab the stuff. You okay with the paps? I don't mind them snapping you, I just don't want you caught off guard if you'd forgotten."

"I didn't forget," says Derek, kissing him again. "I'm feeling pretty comfortable being snapped at my boyfriend's house."

"Boyfriend?" Stiles echoes. His smile is huge.

"You prefer something else?"

"I like boyfriend." Stiles kisses him for the hundredth time. "I like it a lot."

"Me, too," says Derek. Then he's pulling away, which Stiles doesn't like at all. "Let me grab the stuff while you make coffee."

Okay, so that's not a bad idea. Getting breakfast is a passable excuse for not kissing, but Stiles still isn't entirely happy to be stopped. He nods, but it must show in his face because Derek laughs and presses another kiss to his mouth. "Stop pouting; I'll be quick."

"You better," Stiles tells him, lapsing to a daft grin again. He can't be unhappy when there's Derek and this new, wonderful thing between them.

The coffee maker gurgles and spits away as Stiles gets mugs. He still has a minute or two to wait as it brews, but that's fine if Derek's car is down the street. It gives Stiles a chance to bask in an amazing morning. It was exactly what he needed after the trauma of the show. It makes him feel like he can face the week ahead.

Derek's absence also gives him a chance to check his phone and he spots a text from Chris Argent: _You can do better than this. You know she'd agree with me._ It's the type of message that could easily hit Stiles like a punch to the gut, completely debilitating, except this one doesn't. Stiles agrees with it, and if anything, he can feel the confidence in him that led to Chris sending it. He can do better and Allison would say so if she were here. He texts back: _Don't worry, I will._

Stiles hears the front door opening as the coffee machine bleeps, perfect timing. He abandons his phone. Stiles pours the first mug for himself, dumping in a spoon of sugar, then moves to Derek's identical mug to pour as Derek bustles in. Derek has a massive wicker hamper that he sets on the island. Stiles stares.

"There weren't too many paps out there considering," says Derek, moving over and swiping his coffee. "Thanks."

Stiles blinks. "That was for today?"

"Still is," Derek confirms. He takes a sip of his coffee and makes a face. "Did you put sugar in this?"

"Did I--" Stiles turns back and realises Derek's grabbed his mug. "Oh, that was--" He cuts off, remembering.

_Stiles is talking to Erica as Kira returns from the bathroom. He slides down the table to make room for Kira since they've all played musical chairs._

_"It was really tough with Mum," Erica says, taking a sip from her wine. "So I know how much of a big deal it is, what you're doing."_

_"Thanks," Stiles says, a bit bashful. He reaches for his own drink, only to realise it's moved. "Kira, pass my drink please?"_

_Kira slides it over as she sips from her own. "You guys okay? Sounds serious."_

_"Well, I was actually over to get the lowdown on Stiles and Derek..." Erica invites._

"Fuck," says Stiles. He doesn't know why this never registered. " _Fuck._ "

"Stiles, what is it?" Derek asks, setting the coffee down.

"It's the coffee. You had my coffee, but they look the same. Do you see? They look the same." Stiles looks between the mugs. "Kira and I were both on juice."

"Kira?" Derek only looks more confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Last weekend, you remember?" Stiles looks up at him. "When Kira came back, I moved down the table. I asked her to pass my drink and I think she gave me hers instead."

"Stiles, are you saying she drank your drink?" Derek asks.

"I think she might have," says Stiles, feeling faint and vaguely nauseous. Numbly he repeats, "I think she might."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suffice to say Stiles had clear ideas what he wanted in this chapter - I hope you enjoyed it!


	13. Chapter 13

"Stiles, please concentrate?" Derek's expression borders on pained.

"How can you be so calm?" Stiles asks. He's been on edge since the revelation in the kitchen yesterday.

"Because we can't do anything until Deputy Parrish gets here," says Derek. "Except dance."

Stiles gives him the side eye. "Maybe we should go to the station after all."

"Too late," says Derek. "You promised me two hundred per cent remember? On live television."

Some of the puff goes out of Stiles. "Sorry."

"Position?" Derek invites, holding out his hands.

Stiles comes to him, placing his hands as Derek's taught him: one in Derek's, the other on Derek's shoulder, their elbows touching. He still has to have a 'strong core', but it isn't nearly as strict as the tango had been.

"Tell me the steps?" Derek asks.

Stiles feels like a delinquent frustrating his teacher. He states obediently, "Slow, quick, quick to a count of four beats."

"Much slower than the jive," Derek agrees, and Stiles gets a hint of smile. "Ready? On four: one, two, three, four."

Stiles bites his lip on a grin as he takes the first slow step back. Given his struggles when they started, he wasn't sure he'd ever get to this point. Now he's rocking his mini-heels.

"Better," says Derek, which Stiles has learnt is Derek-speak for 'very good, Stiles' when it comes to dancing.

Stiles grins, still stepping. "Does this mean I get to hear the music anytime soon?"

"If you can keep this up," Derek agrees.

"Promise it's not Miley or Taylor?" Stiles hedges.

"Promise," says Derek, slowing. "Actually, it's more serious."

"That's not hard," Stiles points out as they stop. "Too serious?"

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Derek's frowning now.

"You know I'd tell you if it did that," Stiles reassures him. "Let me have it."

"I'd like to dance to _'Say Something'_ ," says Derek. "Do you know the song at all?"

Stiles swallows. That's a song with so many connotations. Every time he hears it, he feels how his illness must weigh on those he loves. "I know it."

"There's a particular musical theatre version done by a British group I'd like us to try," Derek explains. "It's got a bit more to it that transfers well for dance."

"Is it - you want to do it because of this week?" Stiles bites his lip.

Derek's frowning again. "More because it's a love song that has echoes of the type of struggle anyone in a relationship with an addict faces. We were reasonably flippant in the first week. We were more so - at my instigation - last week. This week, especially because we had some trips and falls, I want to be serious. I don't want our fan-base giving up on us."

"You actually think we have a fan-base?" Stiles asks, smiling faintly.

"I know we do," says Derek. "You up to being that raw and honest with me? I want choreography where we're both struggling. You pull away but want to let me in. I follow, trying to reach you."

"And I let you, in the end?" Stiles checks. "I want to let you."

"You let me," Derek confirms, smile reassuring.

"Let's do it then." Stiles nods to himself. "Have you got the track to listen to?"

"Here," says Derek, releasing him to cross to the sound system. He takes a moment to locate the track and grab the remote, walking back toward Stiles. "Do you just want to listen first?"

"Sure," Stiles agrees, and Derek presses play. The intro is slow, music building, and then the words start.

_Say something, I'm giving up on you,_  
_I'll be the one, if you want me to_  
_Anywhere, I would've followed you_  
_Say something, I'm giving up on you_

Derek holds out a hand to him, a small smile on his face like he knows Stiles has noticed his actions contradicting the decision to not-dance.

Stiles takes Derek's hand anyway, stepping close into hold and counting under his breath as he watches Derek's face.

It's magic when Stiles manages to step at exactly the right moment and they're dancing. Stiles Stilinski has reached a stage in his life where he can dance. It's amazing.

"You know the dance won't actually be this simple?" Derek says.

"I thought we probably weren't close enough." Stiles is feeling mischievous. "I'm supposed to be wrapped around you, right?"

"Am I interrupting?" Jordan asks.

Stiles and Derek step apart, glancing toward him. Yet again, Derek has managed to utterly distract Stiles from what he was meant to be worrying about. It's mildly scary and entirely mystifying.

"Jordan," Stiles greets. "Come in."

"I don't think it counts as interrupting if you're expected," says Derek. "Can I get you a drink?"

"I'm fine," says Jordan, closing the door behind him. "I'm sorry to delay until today."

"It's fine," Stiles lies. "I remembered, you see, and I wanted to explain in person. It was my drink. Kira drank my drink."

Stiles is expecting some sort of reaction to the revelation. Possibly surprise, probably confusion since he jumped right in, but Jordan just nods.

"Did you understand what I just said?" Stiles asks. "I mean, I'm saying I think someone tried to dose me."

Jordan nods again. "Have you told your father?"

Stiles is confused. "Yesterday. He advised contacting you, which we were doing anyway."

"Forgive me," says Derek. "But you don't seem at all surprised by this?"

"It's a possibility we were already considering," says Jordan, yanking the proverbial rug from under Stiles' feet. "Can you tell me what you remembered?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Stiles asks, then realises what a stupid question that is. He's been on tenterhooks since yesterday at the mere idea that someone could have tried to give him anything without his knowledge. Twice, the mere thought has overwhelmed him enough to send him running for the bathroom with nausea. Except that also means they've just left Stiles exposed since for the week in between it happening and his revelation; he hasn't been on his guard at all.

"I think you know why," says Jordan. "It was done with the best of intentions."

"Best of--someone might have tried again this week!" Stiles curls his hands into fists, utter powerlessness seizing him. "I wouldn't have known to suspect!"

"Stiles," says Jordan, lifting his hands in placation just as Derek takes one of Stiles' in his own. "Whatever happened last weekend, it was timed specifically whether it was you or Kira. You were both in a bar. There hasn't been an opportunity like that since where you could've been made to look drunk."

"How do you--" Stiles breaks off as he realises how Jordan knows that with such certainty; he releases Derek's hand to press his own together. He's turning over the realisation in his mind. "My dad?"

Jordan inclines his head. "Would you tell me about what you've remembered?"

Stiles grits his teeth. Now isn't the time to be annoyed with his father. Now he needs to talk to Jordan like he and Derek agreed, He swallows and nods. "Okay, so it went like this..."

* * *

"Stiles! Son, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Dad has a hand to his chest as he stops in the kitchen doorway, his other hand still on the light switch.

Stiles has been waiting in the dark for his return. He's sitting at the island. "I thought we should talk."

"I see," says Dad. "Am I allowed to take my coat off or should I proceed straight to the block?"

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Dad, you lied to me."

"No, I didn't." Dad shakes his head. "I withheld certain suspicions that held no real foundation because you had enough stress on your plate."

"Someone tried to dose me!" Stiles exclaims.

"Someone may have tried to dose you," Dad amends. "Stiles, this is purely suspicion. One line of questioning targets Kira legitimately, whether it was someone like Jackson after a good time, or just someone trying to sabotage her. Another identifies you as a potential target. In both cases it could be a hate crime. At the moment, the police just don't know. They're making enquiries."

"It wasn't meant to be Kira." Stiles is sure about that. "She never made sense. It only makes sense if you realise she drank my drink. They were trying to dose me and they had a pap set up to catch me when I got home. I guess I'm pretty lucky they just got Derek and I instead."

"Stiles, kid, I'm sorry you're upset but we genuinely didn't think the risk was big enough to tell you. Everything pointed to Kira. You know I'd have told you if I thought it was at all likely it was you instead," says Dad, "But I didn't. Not at the time, not enough to justify stressing you out. If it had been nothing, do you think it would've been worth it?"

"Dad, I'm an adult!" Stiles scrubs a hand across his face. "That wasn't your call to make."

"I was trying to protect you." Dad is standing there with a frown. "If we'd been sure, if we'd even seen it as likely, I would've warned you."

Stiles nods, the fight going out of him. He'd been so pumped up about it until this moment. So full of frustration. But there was no right answer. He worries at a mark on the island with his finger. "You're right, you know? It's terrifying me."

"Jordan will find out who's behind it, Stiles," says Dad, seriously.

"And I'm going to try and help," says Stiles. "You know I can't sit and do nothing about this."

"I had hoped." Mayor Stilinski looks resigned. "Will you at least avoid breaking the law while you look into it?"

"I'll try?" Stiles offers.

"I'll take that."

Stiles grins at him, and he gets a grin in return. It's a weight off his chest. Dad is all the family he has. He can't cope when they're set against each other in any way.

"Okay, so can I take my coat off now?" asks Dad.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'll even get you a coffee if you like."

"That would be good." Dad shrugs out of his coat, leaving it on the island as Stiles rises to go to the coffee maker. "Is there any food?"

"Leftovers in the fridge," says Stiles. "Rough day?"

Dad seesaws his hand. "Not great, not terrible."

"I guess this weekend hasn't helped?" Stiles pulls out some mugs. Coffee, the one kitchen based activity in which he has any degree of skill.

"I don't think they'll have done as much damage as you imagine either." Dad is frowning again, but it seems more thoughtful this time. "I know it's not been great for you, but it's a struggle. It's not like you're out there causing mayhem, you're just struggling in exactly the way we said you would."

"Have people asked, then?" Stiles wonders if his masochistic streak should be concerning.

"They have," says Dad. "Gave me chance to confirm that you're still sober and I approve of your boyfriend. At least I'm assuming he's officially your boyfriend now since there seem to be photos of him fetching you breakfast from his car in the papers today."

Stiles' cheeks splotch pink.

"You didn't think that'd be a good one to give your dad a heads up about last night?" Dad has the teasing twinkle, but it doesn't make the situation any less mortifying.

"...we were distracted by remembering the drinks?" Stiles offers meekly. "And Derek did say there weren't that many paps out there."

"Only ever takes one, Stiles," says Dad. "But I think it did you both some favours. The make-up on the show didn't look staged, but Derek standing by you off-screen helps. Counters the--well, the other stuff."

"You mean Kali cashing in?" Stiles asks. He's not looked, but he's not naive and he's seen hints of headlines. She was too angry after the show to let it go quietly.

Dad nods, "She couldn't say much directly without breach of contract, so it's probably not as bad you're imagining, but there were enough gaps for the press to try and read an entire novel in them."

"Awesome," says Stiles, pouring the coffee at last. He slides a mug to Dad as he reaches for the milk. The whole thing leaves Stiles feeling cold, nourishes that flicker of need that tells him he'd feel stronger facing it with a glass in his hand and the burn of whiskey in his throat. He shakes it off. "Fancy helping me with my investigation?"

"Stiles..." Dad looks pained.

"You'd be able to keep tabs that I'm abiding by the law?"

"I will be a sounding board. That's it," says Dad.

"That's perfect," says Stiles, bumping against him with a smile. This is something he can focus on, something to channel everything into. "So. We know, lab confirmed, that Kira was roofied?"

"We do," says Dad.

"It happened at the bar after the first live show when she came back from the bathroom. It is highly likely the drink was for me. That was the same time Erica had come over and I'd assumed I'd been included in the round simply because she was with me." Stiles is on a roll. "So I probably need to speak to Erica, right?"

"Reckon so," says Dad. "But be careful."

"Of Erica?" Stiles asks, raising his eyebrows. She's seemed lovely - dangerously pretty and an overt flirt, but heart of gold. "You don't think she was involved?"

"I think her partner is Ennis," says Dad. "And Ennis is married to Kali, who clearly hates you this week. Not saying she's in on it. It could be nothing and she might even have been played without realising it if it was something, but keep it in mind."

"Okay, yeah." Stiles pulls his phone out to drop Derek a text for Erica's number. "Be nice if there were a few more people to trust."

"There's a reason I stopped being Sheriff," says Dad, wrapping an arm around him. "Makes you too suspicious all the time."

Stiles leans against him. "That and you make an awesome Mayor."

"I do my best, kiddo," says Dad. "So how about some takeaway for dinner?"

"No!" Stiles exclaims, breaking away from him. "There are leftovers in the fridge. I told you."

Stiles proceeds to start pulling them out as his Dad complains behind him. It takes until they're sat at the dinner table for him to realise he got conned into cooking.

* * *

It's Wednesday before Erica has time to see Stiles, but it quickly becomes clear why.

"You want to know what I told the police, huh?" Erica asks as Stiles comes into her studio.

Ennis has already gone. Stiles may have lurked, watching and waiting, until Ennis physically left. Stiles is trying not to mourn those precious minutes of his lunch hour too much, but Derek's a bit stingy over actual breaks since he maintains Stiles never concentrates properly to start with. Rude, man. But the point is that Erica is meant to be alone.

Erica is not alone. Boyd is there. And Boyd is an okay dude, but Stiles is still surprised. "Um? Police?"

"Deputy Parrish," says Erica, and she gives Stiles a loaded 'don't fuck with me' look, folding her arms beneath her ample bosom.

Stiles shoots a glance at Boyd and wonders if he should've brought some Derek-shaped back up. No, he reminds himself, these are Derek's friends. They'll be fine. Stiles just has to manage to articulate his questions.

"Maybe?" Stiles hedges. "Was it about the night of the first live shows?"

"That's more diplomatic than 'the day Kira was drugged'," Erica acknowledges, the corner of her mouth curling in amusement. "What do you want, Stiles?"

"I just wondered what you remembered," Stiles says, trying to gauge if smiling back is the right move. Boyd isn't smiling.

"You going to accuse her of doing it, too?" Boyd asks. Or maybe growls.

"What?" Stiles blinks. "No! I know she wouldn't."

Erica arches one of those perfect eyebrows, setting her hands on her hips. "And how would you know that?"

"Your mum?" Stiles is meek, but it's true. He can't see anyone who seriously cares about and understands an addict doing this.

Boyd really does growl this time and starts forward, just as Erica catches him with a hand on his shoulder. "Boyd, no."

Stiles backs up a step, raising his hands. "Dude, come on, please? I already had Jackson's shit and you're meant to be a cool guy. I mean, this isn't about Kali getting thrown off, is it?"

Boyd rolls his eyes. "Kali deserved it. This is about you messing with my partner."

"I'm not!" Stiles protests.

"Boyd, relax," Erica moves forward around Boyd. "Look, do you want a drink or something?"

Stiles hesitates. He doesn't believe Erica had anything to do with it, but he's not going to ignore his dad.

Erica points to a table with squash and a kettle at one side of the studio. "Help yourself if you do."

Stiles heads over, if only for something to do since Boyd is still glaring at him. "Thanks."

"No problem," says Erica, popping the p. "Shouldn't you be leaving the police work to the police?"

Stiles shrugs. "Bad habit I got into as the Sheriff's son. Plus... I need to do something."

Erica takes a seat. "You know, I really don't remember much. I don't remember drinks getting switched."

"Neither did I," says Stiles. "It was only when Derek grabbed the wrong coffee that it jogged my memory."

Erica glances at him, smile back. "This while he was at your house Sunday?"

"Might have been," Stiles concedes. He's torn between being happy for her to redirect if it eases the tension, and acute awareness that his lunch break is limited.

"He must've arrived very early," Erica wheedles.

Boyd huffs and finally eases up on the glaring, moving to get his own drink once Stiles is done.

"Pipe down, I'm curious," Erica reprimands, as if Boyd had spoken.

Stiles suspects he's turning red. "Derek did arrive early, yes. He wanted to go away for the day but I wouldn't wake up that early so we had the picnic at mine. Okay?"

Erica raises her eyebrows. "Where was he while you wouldn't wake up?"

"See, now this was what you were doing that night," Stiles says. "We hadn't even kissed then. But you and your wine and digging."

Erica smirks at him.

"Do you not remember? We'd been chatting about your mum and then Kira came back."

"I remember that," Erica says. "She ships you two just as hard as I do."

Stiles can feel a headache coming on. "Before that?"

"Why don't you ask Deputy Parrish?" Erica asks.

"Because he'll tell me to mind my own business."

Erica and Boyd give him identical pointed looks.

"Please?" Stiles tries.

"This makes me feel like a snitch," Erica complains. "But Jackson brought the drinks. Adrian had come to ask what I wanted - he'd been trying to chat me up all night - and he only included you when I gave him a pointed look. Sorry."

"It's fine." Stiles waves it away. "I'm not a super hot blonde."

Boyd shifts behind him. Stiles does not know how a shift can be menacing, but it is.

"Boyd, he's practically married to Derek, behave." Erica is grinning as she says it.

Stiles shuffles his chair further away from Boyd anyway. "Sorry. So Adrian asked what drinks we wanted, mainly you, then Jackson brought them over?"

"That's what I remember. Jackson was running interference on Adrian for me most of the night, so I figured that was why he brought them," says Erica. "I told Parrish that when he first questioned me. I really don't know anything about switched drinks. I'm not saying it didn't happen, but I didn't notice you drinking Kira's drink."

Stiles nods, turning it over in his head. Erica might think Jackson had good intentions, but Stiles isn't so sure. Jackson's had it in for Stiles all along. It'd make sense that he'd try and get Stiles kicked off the show. Hell. Jackson was the one that caused the little breakdown someone leaked a photo of last week. Probably Jackson. Hell, Jordan probably already had him back in custody considering he'd suspected Jackson before.

"Are you okay?" Erica asks, brows drawn together.

"Yeah." Stiles nods, trying to make himself believe it. It's good to know, right? If he knows, he's armed.

"Stiles," says Boyd. "We don't think it's Jackson."

Stiles blinks, looking at him.

"Just think about that, please?" Boyd asks. "Dude's a tool, but not like this."

Stiles wholeheartedly disagrees with that assessment, but he nods anyway.

What the hell is Jackson Whittemore's problem?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a little late guys - afraid my studying and mock-exams have been sneaking up on me. Hope you've enjoyed this week. I'll try and keep the updates as regular as I can!


End file.
